I'm doing the dishes
when something makes me look up --
a stop-starting squirrel? a falling leaf?
I see a clear picture
through the window above the sink:
grass greener than it should be,
sun slanting across the yard,
leaves both brilliant and brittle.
I swear
last time I looked
the yard was under a veil:
gray, partial, obscured.
Perhaps this is a sunnier day,
but the quality of the light is different, too.
Unfiltered.
I realize I'm looking through a
plain
pane --
there's no screen needed for the season ahead
and it's a whole new world.
Is this how you feel today?
Screen off?
Lighter, you said, but I can only imagine
how it felt to unscrew
anxiety and dread
from your frame of reference:
not needed right now.
There is no active cancer in the liver
and the bone lesions are also showing improvement.
Yesterday was your birthday
and I wanted to give you a present.
The right thing.
But I don't think you mind
that I couldn't find it
because you got the best thing:
The whole wide world.
