To Day

Here is what I bring to you, Day:
A restlessness haunting the hours,
Like the moon behind the trees—here,
And here, now here. A belief
In the core, the place of origin,
Creek water walked in as a child,
The dirt tracks toy Corvettes made,
My son’s laughter exploding
From a pile of leaves we never
Gathered in fall. I give this all up
To arrive at your skirt hems, Day,
To offer what I have, what I am,
The blanched white absence of self,
Taught by years of being surrounded
By kindness, learned through practice
And discovered in places we all
Forget to look. At dawn we all make
Our offerings when we move
From sleep into the waking life
That is truly no more demanding
Than the place of dreams. Day,
I know you only ask that we allow
Our best selves to feast on time,
Feeding each minute with motion,
Dancing the sacred into a pattern
That ends and begins at the center.

–Shaun Perkins