As I walk through the mild air to see the swelling lilac buds,
raindrops fall. They feel cool and heavy on my face.
Perhaps, I think, they will wash the toxins from these buds
and from the needles of my old spruce friends.
Still, the poisons will remain in the soil.
For centuries, I’m told.
Walking with death so nearby lets you appreciate life.
Every little detail of every ordinary thing
becomes precious, beyond words.
The sorrow is deep; the miracles are without number.