The Danforth Anchor

I walk beneath a sky of gray,
this waning,
and yet lengthening day.

I am a little chilly,
and, in a way, it feels silly. . .

A few minutes out,
I think about
whether I wish to continue
to work my lungs, my heart,
my muscles,
sundry tissues,
and my sinew. . .

I smile, I breathe,
I think about the warmth
within
within myself, within my home,
within the groups
that I am outside
and in.

Would it not have been more simple
to take my car, instead, for a spin?

But my body
is
my only lifelong buddy,
and I know
it needs to move this way
from a very early
in my life day,

when I manage to begin
one foot in front of the other to place.

And I hope I will do this still
when I finish the end of this time here
in whatever as yet unknown, and I hope, happy place.

The evening starts;
the moon is split;
half is dark
and half
by our trusty sun is lit,

though, in this Northern Hemisphere,
a chill and winter season’s here.
I aim to drop
the old year’s fear,

and think a lot
about what I would like to see,
to do, imagine, dare, and dream. . .

A grid of squares,
calendar pages,
all the different plans I’ve laid. . .

not sure whether all they will fit,
but helps me it to see them spread
there,
as if those future moments were already here.

I see
the bloom of possibility
at not doom,
but overload and difficulty
one route could bring. . .

And yet,
there are many other ways
to walk, to speak,
to be,
to strive, to rest,
to dance, to sing. . .

And I don’t really know
what this brand new year will bring,
or what I’m going to make, attract, or get. . .

But for now,
I think I will select
to enjoy
today’s present,
colorful sunset.

Account
foremost
for you. . .

for what you are
and what you know
and do. . .

much more
than for
the things
that you or anyone
spews forth
as something you’re supposed
to be or know or do. . .

because you count,
hold on to you
especially when the pressure mounts. . .

Resist,
do not
allow yourself to sink
back into any lies
that insinuate
or try to dictate to you otherwise. . .

To start
(and end),
gaze in the glass
or close your eyes,
to glimpse the light within. . .

take note
of who you actually are,
right now,
from what you’ve done
and what
right now
you notice, know and do. . .

And aim to be the natural match
to the pattern that is, of essence, you
and, with the every beat
of your guarded, secret heart
as best you can, to that,
be true–

No need each flaw or failing
to risky, bored, or hostile eyes expose,
for they are rather apt
your most valued loving act to discount
motive-question, or fierce,
with blows oppose. . .

Rather,
even if it takes a zillion, zillion tries,
move on from those,

and then,
take charge, take stock
of the basic facts and essence
that add up to the very special one
you are,

and, with care,
choose and invite
a few with whom to share,
who your gut says deserve your trust
to cheer you on,
and help you
truly see
and claim
and grow yourself
and with ever better friendly eyes.

One little thing
lost. . .
really just misplaced,
and fretted oe’r,
but now, new found.

A black flapped book
of utmost use
to keep a trace
of what’s ahead,
and what lays behind.

A note,
a date,
a number, name,
a vital place
a comfort to have back in hand.

A wholer feel
even if it’s just an object
not a part of me
nor of foe, collaborator,
relative nor friend.

I awake–
the sun is up. . .
And there are things at stake. . .

And things quite tense. . .
but, still, somehow
I feel a little
like my life force
flows on without a break. . .

Even if I myself
must rest,
relax, recuperate. . .
and open up my very being,
and thus,
prep to receive
a taste
of the universe’s ubiquitous
and far greater mind and sense. . .

And yet defend
against
some seeming equally ubiquitous,
though also with our eyes unseen,
but potent,
tiny-bodied, potentially harmful forces,
looming,
whether present here and now,
or not,
which frighten us,

though they act not
to vindicate
nor to be mean–
they do just what they do,

to live and propagate,
just as we do. . .

What’s hard:
we can’t yet see
how this will go. . .

Our patience is called up
to muster calm,
while tales of direness mount,
and mount. . .

The order of the day,
so we may better
get along and see
is
we take care
in whatever
simple ways we can
and
grow as tolerant as we can,
of frustration, fear,
and disappointment,

stopping now and then,
at least a few good things
to count,

through the many things
we do,
and in the face
of some we wisely cancel or suspend,
during this strange time
we watch and wait.

What does all this mean?
How will things change?

And what is best to do
and not to do,
and be, and not to be?. . .

For me,
for those I love,
and for others counting
on my dedication and my service,
and for the greater good
of everything
I form a part of–

each locale,
each state and country,
and this one
wide world,
in its entirety. . . ?