Today, this poem

I wrote a bumbling little poem this morning about the radiator. I have to turn it a bit more, I think, but it isn't too terrible.

Each morning, in from the chill,

putting my mitten-clad hands directly on the radiator.

the metal curves, chipping upteen coats of reapplied beige,

are hot under my palms. Cold fingertips push

against it, stiff and warm. I enjoy it like a lover.

and it sighs me into pleasure

before I must climb the stairs, continuing upwards with Life. 

And then this poem arrived in my inbox via The Writer's Almanac, and I thought how perfect. I try to live my life in a way where I can turn moments just slightly to the left and see new things, and feel desperately in love, which I think is encompassed perfectly in the following Hirshfield poem.

 Meeting the Light Completely
by Jane Hirshfield

Even the long-beloved
was once
an unrecognized stranger.

Just so,
the chipped lip
of a blue-glazed cup,
blown field
of a yellow curtain,
might also,
flooding and falling,
ruin your heart.

A table painted with roses.
An empty clothesline.

Each time,
the found world surprises—
that is its nature.

And then
what is said by all lovers:
"What fools we were, not to have seen."