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It is clear by now there will be no great work, no magnum opus
No statue looking down serenely on crowds grateful for what I gave
No volume held with awe-struck hands by someone who,
Having poured over the pages, felt saved

But my God, my world is just so bright around me
The sun burning on my daughter’s face, as she faces, with no hint of guilt nor guile, the coming day
As my son smiles and embraces, with quiet pleasure, the first orange light

I want to tell them
Be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth, flourish it
Pass down unwritten pages of life and love
And that tree will stand in the coming city with its many gardens
Where there are no statues, just oaks so full of sap they almost droop,
And seeds, flowering
As bees surround and crown
Their many leaves