I dreamt half my life was spent
in wonder, and never suspected.

So immersed in the moment
I forgot I was ever there.

Red-tailed hawk turning
resistance into ecstasy.

The patrolmen joking with the drunk
whose butt seemed glued to the sidewalk.

A coral quince blossom in winter,
pink as a lover’s present.

And tilting my bamboo umbrella
against the warm slant

of rain, was I not a happy peasant
crossing the great bay on a bridge that began

who knows when, and will end
who knows when?

Thomas Centolella, “View #45” from Views from along the Middle Way.
Copyright (c) 2002 by Thomas Centolella.  Used with the permission of The
Permissions Company, Inc., on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.
 


Poetry