monday poem 1
- The rising sun hits me in the eye
- on the bus to work—
- something else to make me wonder
- if I am paid enough.
- The beauty of the morning
- reminds me too much of suffering—
- of pain for the innocent,
- of loss of the irreplaceable
- that dissolves my equanimity.
- I face the brightness without panic
- thinking of my wife at home
- who prepares for her day with leisure
- not yet extinguished by a schedule.