Where yesterday
there were no morels
today there are—
dozens of them,
small blond bouquets
in the grass.
I think about kindnesses.
How sometimes
they arrive
out of what seems
an absence.
How in that absence
it seems impossible
to believe that kindness
will ever return.
How delicious
the morels were tonight
in the cream,
so earthy, so rich,
so generous.