Now after all these years

I know indeed that there are moments

when the Presence comes through

and tells the endless tale of origins.

The music begins.

The musician bends over his instrument

and, singing, a different face looks

through his eyes.

And there, on the pillow,

the face of my child in repose.

I can read there

the confirmation of reality,

word after word.

Now I can see the testimony

that in the depths

all is as it must be

and that all shall be well.

Can anything be disastrous

as my child turns aside into sleep

and, turning outward into the wide cone of reality,

brings back the news that all is well?

I must change my life.