Daily poems for August 25, 2009

I promise I'm working on getting back to DAILY poems. Send me lots of energy and light, etc.

I want to start with an aphorism that arrived in the middle of last night.


Boredom may be an invitation to joy
if only we learn to attend it.


And here's a daily poem I never posted from last week.

The Most Solid Things

We paddle out to see great blue herons
wading but there are none today.
Swells build as we near the open water
so we dig in, turn back into the cove

The beaches deep in shadows
the sandbars pale in clear, green water, the more distant
water a baize blue—
The anchored boats turn eastward.

One night in Monte Zuzzu, as the rare rain pattered
I lay on the floor of the little living room
watching the ceiling light— its wrought iron shade,
the grillwork shadow that held the walls in its delicate net of darkness.

I remember that I wanted it— the rain and light and shadow,
the smell of dry soil barely dampened, the tiles beneath my spine
and hips and head the most solid things. I knew
my heart had been broken. I knew it would mend.