held by the hand in warm sunlight.
Lying unwritten on the page,
its shape is the placid O

of your face upon waking,
emptied by sleep and ready to receive
whatever gifts the day bestows:

Will it be pleasure? The touch of
morning breeze on skin? Love?
Already you know how it goes.

All your life you've deepened
this moment, the one
you embrace by your

presence in it.
Still it seems as new
as each taken breath. They say

each cell in your body is replaced
once every seven years.
So today is really halfway between

who you are and who you are
becoming
and even if you could know

what was to come
how it all turns out, why
would you turn your back

on this day, this life
when you can let tomorrow
keep its sweet surprise?