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03/21/10 - (1)
7:11
Sunday morning's pulsating orange-yellow cauldron-ball Rises, precisely, on time — 7:08. I see it breach the eastern shoreline's trees, At 7:11. It must be my lucky roll of the dice, my lucky day!
Admittedly, I'm more than obsessively superstitious. This kind of numerological coincidence, Crepuscular configuration, cosmic calibration, When it gets into my imagistic mix, Sends my imagination soaring to astronomical heights.
This mid-March trip to northern Wisconsin, My rendezvous with this cabin on Lake Nebagamon, Concludes with such a salubrious beginning That I'm left on the edge of dazzlement, Wondering what the rest of God's day of rest will bring.
And were I to register a guess, I, recorder of sunrises and sunsets, for these climes, Would prophesy visions equally propitious, Things of this Earth and worlds waiting to be, To keep my soul safe until my next sojourn in eternity.
03/21/10 - (1)
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