Here’s to the sheer, perverse joy of living,
Slogging or dancing, singing or weeping.
Let breath follow breath
While it can.
Green, weatherbound, hunched
In the midst of dust and bluster
The blowhard sky sputtering
A bravado of mist, a bluff of froth.
There is self, and there is truth.
One is a speck, a mote, a droplet
The other is the ocean.