Vigilance Notes - Sunday
The greatest insights happen to us in moments of awe.
Small white flowers bloom
along the edge of the pond.
A heron toe-pointes into the water.
I have made an appointment with the lawyer,
thanked the angel caregivers, faxed
the funeral home. The air is a damp ribbon.
I have eaten little.
In the distance intercostal bridges open
in perfect succession.
Plato says the soul
is imprisoned in the body. I remember this
as I watch a pair of smooth-stoned birds—
mourning doves – build a nest
beside a blue wall, their shadows
so much larger than their bodies.
What primal desire does it take to build a nest?
She never learned to drive.
Her Hyperloop, her helix was my father,
took her to the beauty shop,
to the grocery store, waited for her
in wait rooms, her kite builder, her skate rink.
As she slips further—
I whispered in her ear: Bravo—
Such obstinate courage to hold out on more day.
The sun will rise tomorrow,
on the anniversary of my father’s death,
& again those drawbridges will open.