The Invite

It’s so easy to lament
all the things we missed having
like perfect hair or child stardom
or the cleverness of Dickens or Poe.

As we stew in that broth of regret,
the flavors become more intense
until they reach a point of perfection themselves
and there is nothing left to do except
be disappointed that we will now be eaten
by some fortunate hungry soul.

It occurred to me just now
what it is I’m capable of.
To see with both eyes
to hear with both ears
to taste with nose and mouth
all the beauty which is mine to enjoy.

There was a rush of simple pleasure
which came with the thought
of such great abundance with nothing except myself
standing in the way of possessing every
infinitesimally minute detail of the great puzzle
which extends from the tips of me

And there it was, as if it had been delivered
with the other dreams from the night that had passed
On my pillow, the thought of an embossed card
with the loving touch of a parent or best friend
who with a delicate sense not to impose
anything except that which is peace and comfort
a message whispered by an angels’ choir
You are invited