Happiness

Happiness                                 

Morning after another night of working

     very late,

my eyes follow lines my mind’s too tired

     to take in;

from beyond the glass a sparrow’s cheep

     rings sharply,

cheep cheep cheep—a new sound, though who knows

     when it began.

Dust motes tumble in a haze

     of autumn sunlight.

Soon, in rooms nearby, the neighbours

     will be rising.

Hand It to Yourself

Hand It to Yourself                                    

Even in the stiffest suit of armour

            you find a heart beating;

after every jolt in black clockwork

            you come home to living things.

Our Ararat

Our Ararat

What use a rainbow not in braille,

tidings other than the touch of feathers,

leaf’s cool caress, hard prod of bill,

to gazes penned and floated beyond prayer?