I want to set myself against the grain of the day.
A kitchen chair has legs that tilt in.
The seat resting on top is my day, sturdy and stable.
Yet quarter sawn or planked,
in the whorl and knot is a risen world.
Descartes saw lines and coordinates, all equidistant,
extending out beyond Alpha Centauri.
In poetry there is the view that Einstein saw through a keyhole
and Rumi saw through a window–
a view of light and love and softly shaped mystery.
Three apples rest on a plate on the kitchen table
next to the garden window. The neighbor is planting thyme.
The day is in the tools in his garden shed.