So much to treasure here and now –

      the smooth tea cup in my hand

      the conversation of sparrows at the feeder

      the breeze carrying the scent of spring

Each one a small instance of goodness –

so many every day – but the stern arithmetic

of age tells me I approach the end

 

In sleep, some weightless part of me,

freed from the tired body, welcomes

a limitless cosmos, studded with stars,

suffused with the solace of love

 

Awake, I do not question the truth

behind my dreams