just wishing you a good morning

the amorphous morning I wake up and and get busy. I've been to the market, to the cleaners

and to the bakery. I have the news on and the windows open. It's going to be a hot day.

I feel alone. I feel trapped within myself. Like reaching out to talk to someone might not even help.

I read this poem below. It doesn't really speak to me so much but I like the author. I hope it

speaks to you and you have a good day. The morning seems pointless though I have gotten busy.

I think if I just keep busy, the purpose will come to me and fill me with the shape of the day.

The day is amorphous and it's filled with sounds of birds, the news mumbling along and the yellow

sunlight streaming, angling, into the room. It feels soft but good and promising.

Morning Poem
by Mary Oliver

Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange

sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches—
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it

the thorn
that is heavier than lead—
if it's all you can do
to keep on trudging—

there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted—

each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray