So much to treasure here and now –
the smooth tea cup in my hand
the conversation of sparrows at the feeder
the breeze carrying the scent of spring
Each one a small instance of goodness –
so many every day – but the stern arithmetic
of age tells me I approach the end
In sleep, some weightless part of me,
freed from the tired body, welcomes
a limitless cosmos, studded with stars,
suffused with the solace of love
Awake, I do not question the truth
behind my dreams