Some will weep,
and some, confused,
will shuffle down fogged paths,
while all around them
miracles slide past.

Oh, it's so brief and beautiful,
can we ever choose against
wind on trees,
sun-shattered waves,
the great and distant blue?

High and far,
soft clouds catch graced flight
while squirrels dance and tumble
beneath filigree limbs
so far below.

Under these earthen bones
pulses measure
deep and slow
autumn into spring
golden blaze
cleansing rain
light into dark into light,
beauty of such passing fullness
as to break the heart.

Then stop, oh, stop we must
and cast our tears
shelve time
and breathe
for it is all and always here
and if we must mark at all
let us choose to mark
the blessings of our days.