Light weaves through
the bottom leaves
of the peach trees
and the world is changed
from what it was.
What was it before?
Darker, for sure. And
moving toward the hem
of one more miracle,
if light is a miracle,
which surely it is.
*
Earlier this morning
I walked into an earlier
slant of the same miracle
as I made my way
through the peaches
to the garden to turn
on the sprinkler heads.
As the light washed
my bare legs there
were no thoughts of
not good enough.
Only a pleasure
in feeling the glow,
not yet warm.
*
The peaches, today
they are ripe, after
months of growing
from bud to blossom
to green to the full
round blush of peach.
Tomorrow will be too
late, they’ll be too ripe
for picking. It is today.
It is today.
*
What in us must
be reaped today,
is there something
at the edge of ripeness
profound with its own
sweetness, something
that will be lost
if we do not
come to it now?
*
I have walked into
the house, to my corner,
to the cushion in the shadow
where I close my eyes and
breathe until my body
is mine and not mine
anymore. There
are no peaches, here,
no water, no answers
no light. It is dark
and getting darker
and miraculous,
if dark is a miracle,
which surely it is.