I have a head cold, and I feel a little detached,
but only slightly more than usual.
I often feel like a camera, observing:
vine maple above a stream, red against the green;
oysters and eggs and sourdough bread;
my two little brothers, gray-bearded,
looking out from the point, and the ocean curving
and the sun shining and the surface swelling.
I know that within me there is a great love,
and all around me. Everywhere.
Driving through the desert at night on the way
to Spokane and seeing the stadium
in a little town and the lights of the stadium
shining out into the darkness.
I am passing by. I know they are cheering.