At the End of the Day
I like to gather the glances and gazes
the small reflections where memory looms
a day with all its diffusions and clarities
to hoard the angles of light that fell
on the half-built greenhouse and stopped me
for a moment that unutterable sensation
I felt watching my wife immersed
in the art she loves more than me
to store that flavor of cinnamon in my coffee
that makes me close my eyes slowly
breathe and taste the whole Earth within
to assemble that poem I heard spilling
from the mouths of my children
that I meant to write before it disappeared
those are things I like to collect
the end of a day in the dead of night
and soar through them all in my dreams
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