Days can seem unmiraculous,
even when someone returns,
from three days in bed
and one foot in another world,
to this one, and resumes his former place
as if nothing has happened
(and it hasn’t)

Days can seem staid
though much has been accomplished,
papers sorted and filed,
order restored
as rain lays down its seeps and puddles
throughout the darkish day
and things settle underground,
and the water table rises capably

It may be unmiraculous
that life goes through its quiet transformations,
yet miracle ever awaits
our moments of noticing.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 7, 2015

The needs of the day
lap over each other,
motion blending into motion,
a plaiding of perception,
interrupted longitude of thought —
shortness of reflection
coming to feel like shortness of breath

I take myself away
where other things
can think for me —
tree in brilliant red surrender,
hands to the sky,
pigeons making life where they are,
on urban concrete and grass,
nudging each other into waves of movement.
Lone mushroom still signaling
its ownership of everything beneath —

These meanings can seep
into deep stretches
for my mind.

©Wendy Mulhern
October 17, 2015