The Daily Verse

I have begun to listen
to the spaces between things.

A chipped cup holds
the geography of every hand
that ever warmed it.

Dust gathers on my windowsill,
each speck a universe
that never asks to be seen.

An old tree loosens a leaf;
the earth receives
a letter written in green.

Even silence has its small revolutions—
a seed splitting underground,
a thought unlearning its name.

I no longer ask the world
to astonish me.

I watch a shadow leave the wall
as evening folds the room
into a pocket of time.

Perhaps the infinite
was never beyond my reach;
I was simply looking
at the world,
and not through it.