Catalogue

That it will all be here tomorrow
as it is today. 
That this knotted web will break
and the new strands lie across each other pliant,
receptive to the air.
That this one and that one 
will grow with grace and beauty.
That the world will not fail my feet.
That these rocks will retain their identity
and ask nothing of me but to be.
That this street is not a result
or act of futility.
That mist is only mist
and rain is only rain
and from a spare significance
sweet joy will rise again.
With this and many others,
like a growing tree built leaf on leaf,
that fail in the aging days
but give their bodies to new copies
when the days renew,
I will catalogue this desperate belief.

September 29 2012