every day is ripe

for something for a coming into

in its own way

most days I miss

this imposing my own urgency

pushing like one

born late

but every now and again causes

and conditions conspire

and I still–

against the better judgment

of my petty voices

I sit

and watch as the day becomes

the day listen

for the wisdom

of the wind in the trees watch

the black

dog sleeping

on the porch breathing in

the sun

© J.A. Fink  2013