The Extraordinary Average of the Immediate Now

Glowing secret in the quickening night, stars

are small fires in the blackness—the astute

and quiescent, the alone and dejected,

educated to absence hang about like

the smell of frost, the permanent

aromatic of winter.

The memory of youth rancid sweet, bitter

in the mouth, and crushed in the pocket.

Shivering, clean snips of paper‑thin moonlight

melt into waning clouds drifting by.

We cover our eyes with what we most

want to see, we push against what

contains us—each thing,

one threshold for another—

If you try to slip your limitation

to be free, you miss it, limitation

is what gives life its shape—

do what the moment commands.

In the morning, get up, walk.

Life becomes so true it intrinsically

creates space around itself—for everyone—

vastness isn’t elsewhere, it’s right here,

embodied in the most mundane activities.

Grabbing and holding one single

sparking moment in my arms—I am alight

with ordinary and ambient grace.