One More Day

Spirit has granted me one more day.

Dawn. Early morning light, yet, not yet.
The puppy lies sleeping while the old dog
sits quietly. Sniffing. Waiting. Watching.
Willing the night to dissolve in sunrise,
Now.
The sand in the dunes shifts slightly,
a whisper of rippling silk and startled,
the unprotected lizard dances soft away.
One more day. Each day a gift. The sword
still hangs, suspended. Who can riddle
the truth that holds it in its place? They
are not old gods inhabiting the interstices
of my mind. Nor new. It is the sword.
Ever the sword. No shivering aspens here
on the folds of lava stone where sand
dunes meet and lose out to high country.
Will I too want for breasts so I can die
weighing exactly twenty-eight grams less?
One more day. One more book, a rhyme,
a song for a maid who has gladdened
the heart, the eternal mystery of woman
that has bested god and man. Can God
truly be barren of this unspoken truth?
Eternity has no limits that the mind
can plumb. Nor words. How to grasp
the thought of endless now, unchanging
horror or eternal love, weighing consequence
of living life? How to judge after the fact?
Struck dumb by the wisdom of the Spirit
who has willed this day to dawn, to be, yet,
is it the last? Will tomorrow see another?
A whispered prayer. Sole dei gratia.
The slow rising. Gracias. Otro da ms.
Jess B Ochoa el chuco, tejas, al amanecer, 10/25/11

http://magazine.nd.edu/news/18882-into-the-deep/