NATIVITY

                                                                            

    NATIVITY

A hue of magenta rims the horizon,

I stay in bed—“niente” makes no demands. 

And then a dirty pink, another day of

lagniappe is on its way, this one belongs

to seaside goldenrod, whose slow gestation 

I’ve watched for weeks from weedy green until

this now of yellow inflorescence, incandescence

of  fields aflame in copper-colored glory.

And I am the benefactor of all this beauty.

Beauty, the only thing that brings one’s

forces into balance; beauty, the only thing

that wounds and heals in one majestic stroke.

            

                          October 21, 2003