Original Poems for Every Moment

My daughter brings light to the day, then moves all the candles away; she says, “Keep the cake,

At one hundred, she does not remember every year. Neither does anyone.

Praise the cracking open of the seed, the blind ambition of the buried root, the robin's first bewildered, breathless creed

You stand beside the new door with paint on your sleeve, your own keys warm in your hand.

Today is not special. No one circled it on a calendar.

I wished for a year without fuss, with good food and one punctual bus; the candles burned low,