Embracing the Day Both Ways

Dawning . . .

In the middle of it all
one volcanic plug
of basalt sticks up a cone,

cold now for more forevers
than humans have ever known,
than all the primate generations

behind us. The big picture,
grand and aloof, the great clouds
racing over the gracefully

crumbling stones of eons,
and the small picture
of the wood peewee

with three chipmunks
dashing around the nearest
broken rocks at my feet,

scrambling for just this one
morning's quota of birdseed
the jays didn't sequester first.

. . . and Dimming

When we
like it,
it keeps

going.
When we
do not

like it,
it keeps
going.

Wanting
it slow,
wanting

it fast,
wanting
it still,

it keeps
going
on, still,

always,
still on-
going.

Still, it
does go
away,

without
ever
leaving

even
one stone
alone.