i will be content to make a meal
of bitter words
content with broken branches
and the echo of a storm
that swings between me and peace.

i will be content with darkness until
the dawn wets my face with dew.
i will learn to love the stones
that cover autumn's bare back
and the snow that drifts in my heart
through the long winter

until the ones i've lost
come back to me in dreams
with the stutter of memory
and the dazzle of stars
love will bless my steps
and heap a mountain of dirt on my grief.
i will believe the sayings of optimists,
soothsayers, and the prophet-like believers.

when a dream pecks my night with its beak
and winter is a whistling of snow,
i will use my father's cane,
my son's wheelchair,
and pray my mother's rosary,
i will stoke the embers burning in my heart

and be content with the little that is much