A poem by Angelaurelio Soldi (7.31.19)

Another day comes before another

Living is not always

a voluntary act.

You wake up in the morning

and the day runs through you

before you know it.

You want to write a poem

but your body doesn't want to

and they still play

the same music on the radio.

If you had to mix the air for you to breathe

trouble

only trouble

what do you know?

But you walk outdoors and there it is

from yesterday weather

today arrangements and you breathe

another day of no consequence.

You'll find out only later.

My friend, Elio, wrote this poem.  He shared it with me yesterday during a visit to his home outside of Hillsborough.  It's a lovely, peaceful place with meadows, tall leafy oaks, and a long prospect from the porch to his three acre pond.  He gave me permission to post it here.  There's nothing else to say about this poem, other than when I rose this morning to walk the dog, I very consciously breathed the air.  Oh, and one more thing; if you like this poem, you'll like the poetry of William Bronk.