New Day: A Poem

The sun arrived as we thought,

first like inquisitive fingers reaching into the darkness,

then crowning on the horizon, squeezing colors from the clouds into the sky

like tubes of paint, until the new day is born.

 

Only the crazy waited, wondering if it would happen today

as it did yesterday all the way back to creation day-four,

the obvious hand of God in the blue-fading-to-white

sky where it meets the ocean.

 

The waves slap the sand, palms to fingers,

the grasses on the dunes bend with ordered grace

and freeze first because of their nakedness,

while gulls stall in flight carrying their appetites only.

 

He signs everything like the painter after he scans his work with one eye

from across the lighted room

making sure he doesn’t miss a single opportunity,

or a poet who pushes hard at the end to wring out all there is.

 

The shuttle driver asks “How can you miss it?”

as he motions to the ocean that bounces with hunger every morning.

I squint and lean forward to get a better look

because the wind and loveliness keep my eyes from opening fully.