I think that what’s
Important is the small
Corner of the bigger
World we all live
In such a place
That corner which disappears
Like mist above ponds
Like dreams upon waking
But to us our
Very own tiny corner
Is enough to sweep
To tidy to decorate
And to welcome others
Whose own little corners
Got swallowed up by
This our round world
There is one thing
That I want more
Than anything beneath the
Tree but since I
Don’t have a tree
Maybe you will be
Standing outside my door
On that Christmas morn
And now one week
After the shelling stopped
Seven days post Armageddon
Things are coming back
Nature has a way
Of reclaiming what most
Of humanity allegedly conquered
Pounding and pounding and
Pounding its angry fists
But in the silence
In the deep sigh
Life slowly creeps delicately
Cautiously creeps back home
Much like love will
Once they are gone
What are the firsts
Of things called of
Things that before had
Been routine can the
Firsts of things previously
Known be anything other
Than normal what about
The firsts of things
Heretofore already experienced yet
Now proven different and
Curious what makes something
Old new again desire
Serendipity or maybe longing
For what had been
I have always said
That the bottom is
The best place to
Start because everything else
Looks up from there
When down chin up
For when your chin
Is up so is
Your head and everything
Is shiny and new
