Today and I are friends.

There is some kind of whispered magic going on today. I can smell it, but I can't taste it, like the flavorings in those fruit-waters Glaceau used to make (my favorite, Lemon-Cucumber, is long discontinued).

Like an egg, today's secrets are hidden beneath a bland exterior that is both stronger and weaker than it looks. And, my, are those insides nourishing.

I glow with the diffuse celebrations of tiny victories (like making the bed) and brilliant moments of beauty (like watching Reagan take his shirt off and do pull-ups).



I was worried I didn't have any old poems to post today that would fit my tone and mood (without requiring a ton of work), but then I found this one. It reminds me of my room in San Marocs, and how carefree and joyful the days I spent there were.

Courtship

I left your heart in san diego
then God fell in the sink
I listen to the sunset
and it tells me what to think
remind me not to wash this coat
before it starts to rain
and tell my mom to make that soup
then pour it down the drain

you go rolling in wild pastures
caught up in a great laugh
shake the trees and scold the moon
sayin' they watch you in the bath
I'll chase you round her silly world
and deeply through the night
but even if I catch you up
I can never do you right