Vigilance

I do the same things everyday. This poem
was written at the same time of day
as all of my other poems. I'm reading it
to you at the same time I always do.
My weeks are as uniform as my days.
My years have been passing this way too.
I like to think of this as a kind of
meditation. The kind where you stare
at a wall with your eyes closed and try
to look at the tiniest possible point
just in front of you, a point the keeps
shrinking just out of your focus,
and while your doing this, your mind
winds down and idles until it stops.

They don’t tell you what you do in heaven.
You may sing around God’s throne or just
exist in a state of homogeneous joy, but
never that you do this thing and then another.

This, right here, this very thing I’m doing
is on the blurry corona of the single point.
I’ll keep doing everything I do, the same
way I do it, until my life begins to hum
until death is the same as life, until this
poem is the same as shaking the lint
off of a bath towel or washing a wine glass,
until I don’t even know if I’m singing,
if that light is the throne or whether
this is joy, love, peace or what even words are.