Let nothing be too big or small to say or see.
End of the world; cockroach on the counter;
deja vu; tail of a dream; anonymous phone call;
child asleep; kettle begins to boil.
Over the ribbon of winter river creeps the sun.
The pigeon preening on the synagogue wall
ruffles its wings and tucks its head back down.

The daily touch of hands
by gradual degrees turns white to black.
And there are other signs of tender wear.
Cats softly rub their chins on edges they make dingy.
Slow concavities, step by step,
hollow out the hardest granite stair.
Such are the markings I sit down to make.