The sweetness lies in the small things

(as you know), the fire opal of sun

spreading its brilliance on the horizon,

the flick and fold of wings in a moss-adored forest,

the wink and riffle of water cleansing muddy banks.

It also comes when unexpected, when silent

wintered days sneak in to sit with me too long.

What arrives are packages

with great cushy socks for icy feet,

bright bottles of red and green chili powder,

an easy can opener, tubes of silky rose.

There is a card with “hogs and kisses”.

I open a wisdom handbook for my German-Celtic soul;

lift up a vase of peace, soon to overflow with blossoms;

Given, too, is an intricate drawing with declaration:

“Love is Everything”, and so it is, we know it is;

a poem that traces the manner of our circle

with irregularities and faithful, visionary ways.

This family morphs, stretches; it does not break.

Its divergence of pieces are gathered,

unified, set into bright overlapping mosaics.

Our hopes ride like feathers on swift wings

that turn, dive, rise and realign paths

in secret lowlands, imperial skies.

We follow light streaking through darkness,

sing songs that flood the air with ache,

amazement and random delight,

and can heal with tenderness and laughter.

I am gifted with these, by these, one by one.

For sweetness lives in such small things

and then grows bigger.

This is our constellation, one we need not see

but always know; it keeps us and leads us

homeward to the gorgeous might of the heart.