It isn’t a matter of using the day, but of finding a way to express one’s gratitude. Or it might be a matter of finding one’s gratitude and expressing the way. * Junco bathing in a puddle — sunlight-celebration. * Death is the poet’s last poem. Life is the page it’s written on. * The body ages like a star. The mind is its light, seen from afar. * Joy […]
My life is a slow sentence — written in faith and served with relish. . [ 1657 ]
Sometimes I feel I could live to be a very old man. Sometimes I feel I already have. Sometimes I feel the end is near, as it always has been. Sometimes I feel quite young, a boy laughing where the spirit is. . [ 1647 ]
This old body is going through some changes this winter. It reminds me of cracking walnuts with my father during the long cold evenings. He was a boy, and I was at least a hundred and ten, when, crack! The outside was in, and the inside was out again. . [ 1640 ]
’t is a conscious winter, when the rain is bright and the stars go out . [ 1639 ]
a leaf on the ground / lines on her face / an old man with faith in his cane . [ 1580 ]
This body in years — sixty-six and more. But do I really know my age? Ask the universe. Look up at the stars. . [ 1578 ]
Mist, fog, smoke — a lonely street light where the town ends and the country begins, dreaming of an affair with the moon — foolish enough — then you smile, so little you’ve changed since your youth. . [ 1577 ]
The first ripe pears, and a bearded old man by the road, praising it all. . [ 1543 ]
William Michaelian 