what might come in

The warmth of the sun’s rays
saturated the air, already gurgling
from a chicken roasting in the oven.
Jangle - a boy’s bright collar.

I look up and out at the door wide ajar
as if always knowing, an invitation,
to not look at what might come in
but instead, delight in what comes in.

Speckled ivy glides along the windowsill,
and sweet grass, braided,
- dried and twined - by healing hands,
usher in the evening light.

This solstice,
I will not steal.
Not from others, not from the earth,
and not from me.

It is not mine.
It was never mine.

And instead, delight in the now.
So that I can integrate,
remember,
soft summer winds,

southern peaks are ablaze,
my young lover’s feet
thud
against cherry wood floors.

I chew
and ponder -
resting
here.

Experience life as it is,
and as it is not,
brilliant and dull,
and therefore, is.

The words anew, the lesson the same.
From the fullness of this moment,
the focus shifts and we return again.