That we wake up alive to the morning
Blackness yielding to yellowing light
That we return to something like the place we left
Without falling off the edge of the world
Should be enough for us.

Rivers move toward the ocean, clouds congeal overhead.
Waterfalls throw spume from top out, then plunge.
Time’s circle draws its line, enclosing us gently.
The direction is set without a sound.
Could this be enough for us?

The tin song of the ice cream truck announces summer.
Soon we whine it’s too hot or too cool.
While we are not watching, the pansies turn
Their small faces upward to the sun.
It should be enough for us.

Yet we set our table the same way
Knives, forks, and spoons waiting for the full plate
Like little gods we pronounce endlessly
On the goodness of what we have created
Forgetting we were raised up from formlessness to form
Which should be enough for us.

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