Saving the  Day {for the Moment}   
 
Above the head of my bed is a window I think of as belonging
in one of those block-long cruise ships.  Nearly as wide as
my queen but a mere thirty inches tall,  it sports blinds
the color or sex, were sex furred dust gray.  Old and grizzled
though they be,  they  make light zebra the dog-gnawn
spread to the point where sunflowers spring to life. 
Shifting stripes only breathe more.
 
By being particular about the angle
at which the blinds tilt, it is possible to get the day
to perform more  magic with its store of light. 
Careful!  Tilt too little, the light lolls shamelessly
on shams.   Too much, and the day gets miffed,
puts out its lantern, and skulks – I think – to a home
where it feels welcome.   Get the tilt right, the whole
room seems to glow as light and shadow cavort.
Work, but the way I see it, someone has to save
the day.  However tiny one’s part.   Look at it
from a distance, a dust mote is huge by comparison.
So stretch it.  Not going to last, so while it does, 
give it the respect it deserves.  Love it enough to
give it its own time and space.  Really see – no,
I mean see.     Delight in watching it at work
and at play.   Keep still and out of the way,
hard to believe the show.
 
Job isn’t done, of course.  Got to angle the blinds
just so as the day commences  to enter the throes
of death.  As it lies on the bed rejecting all efforts
to cover and straining to make sure its last words
penetrate even the thickest of heads.   Times when
death comes so fast,  there is no time to conduct
the saving ritual.   Luckier  times, I try to show
I am happy to help see that the day returns to
its maker knowing it has been treasured
to its last breath.  This is one gift
that expires lightning fast.
Spending mine
n o w.

            (c) Phyllis Jean Green,  2010