Wonder at the mundane, a constant refrain,
Nothing, under heaven, remains the same.
The glint, the glance, the gaze, the smile,
The unconscious optimism as we while away
The hours: ‘It’ll be OK’, ‘I’ll live to fight another day.’
Look close at the myriad of wild flowers
Born to make a magic carpet of the valley floor.
Look up at the swirling clouds of mazy blue,
Each one a reflection of an unexplained eternity.
A long glance that seeks out the hurt of others
The gentilities of flirt, as we raise the spirits, seen
In the passing glance, heard in the subtle variation
Of tone. An all-abiding secret wish not to be alone.