tomorrow's dust

 
Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow's dust flares into breath.

"The Coming of Light" by Mark Strand, from New Selected Poems. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2007.

it's been heartening to begin to find pennies again this week; after a long damp winter of none to be found.  It's about time.  Time to have good luck.  Time to wish upon a star.  Time to shine and follow the next dream....