Suppose
life is an old man.
He's the type to thank
all the gods he knows
when his eyes first open
for the gift of another day.
Shrugs on his robe
and pads into slippers
without waking anyone
and starts the coffee.
Showers, dresses,
heads to the park
for his walk with the birds,
who flock and coo and chirp
for the crumbs of stale bread
he carries.
He has a lovely porch,
where he rests
in the afternoon
and after dinner.
He watches the neighbors
bustle and unwind.
You're always welcome
to join him in
the other rocker
and talk of whatever
the gentle breeze
blows into your mind.

Listen to him well.

The old man has learned
the small joys and adventures
fill our days
and are miraculous.