A Friday poem

Dwarf quince in bloom

I have landed in the middle of myself,
refusing to peer down from behind my pointed finger.
My palms rest open, relaxed, at my side.

The noisy day enters and my finger longs
to indicate the problem
but I tell it, no,
you are no longer welcome to point
from your high tower.
Come down and look.

The eyes of the heart are like flowers, like stars.
They reflect the farthest light.
They notice what is destined to grow brighter
in the darkest room,
the coldest smile,
the one who looks away.

Tanya Coburn

turning the corner

Some shed surface,
some knot that is untangled,
some thought we can dismiss,
a way of looking
that distorts the world
we can relinquish
and let a liquid washing through of light
leave us ready
to turn the corner
look at the unknown
as though it were a friend of ours
wearing a fresh hat,
imperfect as yesterday,
offering us tea
and the wise choice
we couldn’t make before.

Tanya Coburn

I’m reading the poem here (a couple of times)