A quiet day in the neighborhood

Inhale this: at the radiant core
of each atom, jiggling irrepressibly,
permanent in a dappled, impermanent
world, is gratitude, an energy
neither created nor destroyed, and glad to be.

People, dear to themselves
and hungry, sling their legs out of beds
and hammocks. Pink possum feet
grip damp branches, a broken wing
drags the ground, an old woman's
papery hand strokes a purring cat
while moss grows thick and crowds itself.

Exhale as nightfall, an enfolding
dark velvet, cradles all spent bodies
when what has lived and sung
goes home to sleep. And the substance
of night, of dark, of death, is also gratitude.

Lovely development today: The Portland Occupier featured a story by Teleri Williams! Blip connections rock!