Originally uploaded by Peg Syverson.
Do I want to say something about these anemones?
Or do I drink this color, light, and shadow straight up,
the main question having changed from
how can I make a living
to how can I live this life?
in the teeth of the great mystery
where words can’t follow
the vast wild night
safely held at bay by
the comforts of this place,
my settled space and this, too
is home to it, the life within
and without no different, really,
the death that enters here or there
completely unconcerned with
where you are or what
you’ve left undone.
It is only this, there is nothing more
to yearn for
nothing to arrive at or discover
because no matter how you have tried to imagine it—
the wars, catastrophes, and epidemics,
the dread and worry, rage and grief
and panic and shame—
there is nothing quite as dazzling as
this: a pitcher filled with little cups of liquid
light in violet, scarlet, white and green,
or your unhindered eyes and mine meeting
through timeless space,
the true wonder is simply a life like a pitcher
that can hold it all and pour it
into the world