Sweetness is Given

You wake up - the bed as vast as the end of war - and think: sunlight matters. A perfect loneliness ensues, like Venus at dawn. It's okay to talk to God and whoever Jesus was, you know he was a listener. Last night's rain stripped the buttercups, the pasture looks empty. Our hands cannot hold the world, therefore we hold the other's hand. Or is it that the world is a difficult text - a finished text - and we are its scrawl? "I just want to look at one more pretty thing before I go." The swallows matter, the irises matter. "Apple tree" this summer has been both a totem and a place one likes to sit. Life is fluxional, also fabulous. One resides where the other says "blue." Sees blue? Oh, let others be right, let others be wrong. These sentences didn't ask to be written and neither did I. How sweet the clover is, for those to whom that sweetness is given.