For this joy I will pay a price.
For years and countless blessings.
Bushels of apples,
dancing with my sweetheart,
watching my children grow,
my grandsons becoming more beautiful
The balm of health, of recovery.
Of finding the surprise of happiness
every hour, for the taking.
And then, not in a burst,
a second sight.
the ruins at the base of cities,
the decay of humus nourishing gardens.
The old pushing the carriages
of the young.
I see the debris of broken windows,
the cordillera of a great tree’s bark,
in the grassy wastes of roads,
around my house,
journals, antiques, souvenirs,
And I looked shyly at the ceiling,
listened to rattling paper,
as if a list were being opened,
a list of things done and neglected,
the commonplace of the miraculous.
as if a blanket were put around my shoulders,
my life enveloped me,
and a question.
Would it be warm enough in Paradise?
Would it be soft and beautifully woven?
Would it be clean
with the smell of fresh air and water?
Would it be big enough to share with others,
comfort them when your arms are no longer near?
And then I understand there was no price
for my life.
It’s worth exactly what I believe it’s worth,