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


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