Apart

Sit in the sunshine
thirty minutes a day.
Doing what? Computer work?
Games? Catching up?
Writing tomorrow's poem?
Sit in the sunshine
thirty minutes a day.
I can do all that
but watching the birds
drinking from the dog dish,
considering the clouds
floating, morphing,
being. Listening
so I might hear
what I've asked,
that a power, a god,
might show me
who I am, what I need,
what is the next right thing.