Poetry of being

today, i talked  Soren Kierkegaard with a local priest,

caught a paper airplane in mid air, and threw it back

tagging the back of a local  daughter’s neck and said, you are special,

thanks for throwing that plane my way-we were kids again for a second.

i also saw a hawk, which landed on our tree, and

i walked my dogs in wonder of them, and  me in their ways…

i looked into a friend’s eyes with true care and wonder, and meant it,

and felt the wind on my body, mostly my neck and arms, and paused

considering where it came from—the distance wind travels in us.

It was a good day.