An Overabundance of Yin

I have littered notebooks

with love letters

to that persistant rock

that orbits this earth

never really crediting

where her soft light

comes from, or feeling

any real worth in

the passing solar joy

of days and summers.

Her light is calm and

unassuming, which

seems to call for song,

but that spherical furnace

serves only to drag us

into activity.  Yet it is nice

to work and walk and play.

is happiness undeserving

of poetry?  Must the truth

be introspective and not

equated with basking

on a beach or mirthful

chatter outside

coffee shops? 

Why yearn for sleep?

but work instead

for the heart to play

hopscotch on hot pavements.

to dance in grassy fields

and watch the river shimmer.

To get lost in a conversation,

carried away like a yellow kite

on the wind.  Tonight, while

the moon hibernates

behind thick clouds

let us remember the friend

we hope will meet us tomorrow

and as we sit in the glow

of fire or computer screen

raise a mug or glass

to joy and abandon

whenever it next

may grace us.