Morning Poem

Job Hunting

Every few years

I come to a point

where I'm floundering:

a rudderless ship,

a leaf on the wind,

cuckoo's child in a strange nest.

What should I do? I ask.

What should I be?

Funnily enough the answer is always the same...

This is my job:

to get up singing

so that the sun will rise

in its glory;

to add my soul's small

gasp of delight

to the chirring chorus

of the waking world;

to stretch like a tree

with my arms held wide;

to capture the wind

and soak in light like water

pouring out of the sky.

I am a cloud child: water, light, salt.

This is my job:

to cradle each heart I touch

tenderly

for it will bloom into beauty;

to dream dreams

extravagant as fish

colored hummingbird-bright

swimming deep in the dark ocean

so that time will turn

like a kaleidescope

and stars will bloom

like bright hearts

in the smiling universe.