This Day

Sunrise.
A new day.
The same, unexpected, change,
Expectations amiss, completed,
Again, no more.
Will I live or die today?
Shall I abandon, renew,
Hold fast, retreat, reach beyond
Or dig my grave?
Who will I know
This sun day?
Passing faces? Glancing blows?
Connections below knowing?
Melding?
Giving and opening wounds?

This day the mist blurs the edges of distant trees and buildings.
Today as early as it is, I have already fed the winter birds,
Eaten an apple and some dried apricots, explored
Hundreds of possibilities and chosen directions.
Minute by minute I have added my brush strokes to
The ever forming canvas of life.
Willing to feel, to hurt, to love.
Ready to strive and sweat, to be perplexed and to find ways through with companions.
To go, to turn back, to pause, to explore a path,
To allow a hand in mine, and someone held close.
To be defeated and exhausted,
And rejoice in the participation.

To stand before the day forever emerging and never formed,
And say, Amen.

Copyright ©2002 Tony Crisp