We are all one misstep
removed from disaster:
either by diagnosis or accident,
a fact we soberly accept
as the truth of our age.
Dreams from years long ago
have not come to pass,
whether private or public:
we are resigned to a present
imperfect and unpromising,
but find no reason to surrender,
no excuse not to hope.
We await each dawn,
happy to be alive,
to be full of thoughts
in these still lovely days
which color our moments,
to find the words we must say;
and to watch the children
who run, laughing through days,
who will people a future
which we may not see,
but already welcome
as if we were there.
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