! ! Sunlight On White Paint. For The New Year. Poem by Michael Shepherd

The house across the way is newly painted white.
Right now, that’s all my being seems to need:

this winter morning, sharp, cold, bright and clear,
the morning sunlight pours across white paint;

contains a thousand messages, in me
interpreted.. or simply left to be..

this moment, that’s as much as being craves:
this morning’s glory; and I, born for praise..

even as I write, I watch the sun’s
white paint brush move across the house’s front

and tell the eye of reason that this world
is turning, basking, in this morning sun;

already sparkling on the Bondi waves
as if the world had just been washed anew;

cast early dawn’s pearl light on Taj Mahal
as if the sun itself could never tire of beauty;

Italian villa forecourts just hosed down,
the air all fresh to meet the warming day;

the gardens of Carmel, eight hours from now,
will paint their flowers fresh with mist and dew;

as every carefree holiday yourself
recall, as proof eternal of pure soul..

and here - the witness of my silent mind
needs nothing, need go nowhere else to find
its very self, this moment without taint:
immortal sunlight shining on white paint.