hungry at 6 AM
used to mean still drunk,
desperately seeking absorption

used to mean I’d overeaten
the day before 

now it just means
I’m on time for breakfast
now it means I’m in a 

routine

by which I mean I do this regularly 
and take some comfort from it 

I am astonished at the peace
in my once happily chaotic self
that routine creates but

before you of long order and gentle lives
gloat entirely about my assimilation into your ranks
understand that part of the routine

involves opening a finger
drawing my blood onto a strip
and staring at the subsequent appearance of a number
which tells me if my routine is saving me

and the only reason I follow it
and take joy from it
is the hope that on any given day
the routine will have cleared
enough death from me
that I can take a moment
of glorious disorder from it

and be my old self again

Certainly, 

this may be your last day alive.

Certainly, 

that this might be so
may cause you to cry out

that you’ve been wronged.

Certainly, 

you may feel wronged
without crying out,

thinking of how time has robbed you.

Certainly,

if it is your last day,

seeing this last great blue heron
(if indeed this is the last one, the final heron)
offers a chance to make up for
the other, unappreciated ones
you’ve passed.

You realize
how you’ve been prepared for this:

certainly,

you must realize 

that this may be the last chance you have to be whole,
to choose to see the bird as if there have been
no others, to see the bird as if only you could name it,
as if this sight is only meant for you;
and though you know you are wrong about that,

certainly,

you understand at last

that what joy there is to take from being
is yours alone to choose. The world doesn’t care
what you do. The heron doesn’t care if you pay
attention. You have never been wronged by time,
only by your rushing through it —

and certainly,

there is that heron to learn from

with its one legged stance
in a low deadfall, perhaps
aware of you but unafraid to 
stand still, eyeing the water,
striking now and then;

missing then, catching now, 
not always successful

but never, ever wronged.

In observing the care he took 
when simply crossing his legs
among others on the subway

how relaxed he was as he took
no more space than needed
and then remained still and at ease
till his stop then
rose into the crowd and was at once
gone

I was moved for 
I’d never seen 
such simplicity

No wasted motion 

How un-American it seemed

Outside at night to write
by lantern light, on a whim.

Should I offer a representation of 
this clean sky framed by
the strong arms
of the backyard oak?

Not tonight — the Perseids
are overhead and every 
half-minute or so a streak
makes words vanish
as I watch.

If the tree
survives the night, I will 
return to it tomorrow.
Although I am not that familiar
with hope or optimism, 

I do take
a certain foolish comfort
in the magical thinking
that there will always be
another poem.