Magnus Grace

I made tea this morning.

I put the leaves in, watching the steam dance with childlike wonder.

I returned to my laptop, staring at a half finished chapter, the bags under my eyes more apparent than ever.

My neighbor is doing Duolingo across the street,

He’s in his sixties learning a new language

And I’m just eating leftovers, watching him,

Wondering if he’s practicing French for his husband.
 

Fireflies and sun

Thunderstorms that shake the house

Summer has returned

To me,

The words hope

And light

Are interchangeable;

To me,

Perhaps it is hope

That will let us see clearly

Lifejacket strung on the clothes line,

Still dripping with lakewater and smiles

From when I skied across the great

Puddle of light that sits in front of me now,

We 

     Contain multitudes,

     Infinite differences

     And variations; it is