refilling the reservoir

I am content with sunlight
pouring through half-open windows,
warm, luminous, blinding,
the soft contours of silence sharpened occasionally
by an elder branch
tapping against the glass.

Content also in this worn, ragged chair
at night,
writing of birds and rivers,
the cold stars, the ice, bearded moon
refilling the reservoir that the sun may again
drink tomorrow.

[Greg Watson, "I Am Content with Sunlight", from Things You Will Never See Again]

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