Morning finds us at a kitchen table
Someway short of a banquet hall.
We light a candle
To illumine modest fare, creased faces, the plainest of thoughts.
Meal at an end,
A book of poetry falls open
To Hafez, Du Fu, or Blake.
Sage householders that we be,
The naked flame is nudged aside
Lest a dust jacket flash to kindling.
But is this not what morning affords:
To set alight the paeans of verse,
The sacred summons of a book,
This drowsy abode,
Our breakfast lives?
- Jonathan Larson
Love this, Jonathon!
Reminds us of our “breakfast lives”
which are also often followed by poetry
and/or other quiet meditative readings!
Blessings, Leona & Peter
“Lest a dust jacket flash to kindling “ a poet on fire is something to behold
Larry, mon cher – it’s a wonder to have friends who think more of us than we deserve.
Hello, Leona and Peter! Yes – kin across the miles and the years. And such kinship as kindles a fire!
Simply truthful imagery to offer light for the day.
Thank you, Jonathan
Hello, Carol! It doesn’t take much! A candle, some quiet, a lyric line – and we touch the face of heaven.