Food will taste good again.
Silverware will make its gracious clink.
The bowlful of clementines won’t mock you,
anymore. The moon will shine serene
above the dishes in the sink.

You’ll smell the first-mown grass of spring
on just another day.
All at once you’ll find you’ve smiled.
The mundane: splendidly
mundane. It will be okay.

Music will hold you in its iridescent grasp.
Sleep will satisfy the aching night.
Squinting in the sun, you’ll rise,
Glad to take for granted
the habit of delight.
© marlenworks