I forget, sometimes, that the sun existsunder the cloudy stuffing of a winter Cleveland day.
I forget, sometimes, that the sky is blue,
that the stars shine, that there is a moon
reflecting back light in a universe
that is far larger than the bowl of life I eat from.
But this night, seven nights ago, I felt the whole world.
The earth beneath me, its fiery core, the storms on the sun,
the pull of orbit, the small child scooping rice with his fingers
ten thousand miles away, a lone kingfisher singing in the morning,
my home on my street, my mother's ashes in their box,
the dented light from the milky circle of a distant galaxy,
a monk bowing to the west. This night,
seven nights ago, I felt the one pink womb of living.
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