" In the Morning "
I.
In the morning I scribble
my findings quickly, before
the normal day overtakes me.
Nightwork: not just dreams,
the most creative shift,
mulling over the data of daily life,
putting together new stories, another way
life could have been lived –
answers difficult to face
in the daylight. Winter solstice
is the peak, each subsequent day
the light gets stronger and
there is no peace.
II.
I remember the dead
and who is dying. I light candles
for father and mother and son,
decide not to call my old friend’s home
because I will provide scant comfort.
As the normal day begins, I count
wife, daughters, granddaughters,
I even name the cats with joy.
In dreams, one sees the stars,
can dispense with self-delusion.
But the human speck picks up his spade
with the sun, digs a shelter, a foothold,
a hiding place, somewhere to spend
the next night.
III.
Today as memory: I wake,
I know the sun is in its place,
the trees have not fallen,
the last leaf fidgets in the wind.
A lute reminds me of light,
perfection fractured in crystal.
© 2004 Charles Levenstein
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