Celebrations

This delicate attention we give
The movements of strangers or the swells
Of music raising off the street corner –
Cars and the mere players who take
The stage of the sidewalk as their own–

This attention to the details,
Of what can be described in the attempt
At making sense of something that, intelligent
Or intelligible, seems to have an elaborate
Design, sort of like praying,

This stillness of our eyes, watching the sky
Bleed and pass away or – not many people really feel
The excitement in something so mundane –
The stillness of our eyes watching
The placement of a flower on a grave,

This deliberate pressing on
From morning to night, the meals
Taken bite by bite, the exchange of pennies,
And the donning of a coat that praises both
The cold of cold and the miracle of fragility

This woman crying onto the shoulder
Of the man beside her on the bench,
Not as if the people passing by did not exist
But as if grief meant more than the world
And the need to be held exceeded shame

The way that sorrow swells up
At particular things, fills the bellies of guitars
And the circles of embracing arms,
How we wish to stop and confirm that it will be ok,
Since we also are capable of appreciating great beauty.