If a hinge is missing a screw, somewhere a shutter grieves
against a house. When open hands pause above a box,
it is time to wonder about reaching and withdrawing,
and whether hunger does make bones rattle. Smile more.
It helps the sun shake off the cold of fall's night cloak.
Leap more. Your hands were made for holding the air.
Know that if there are bits of sand in your nails, a fly
will find an open window; the boy will escape the fire.
Music can be heard in the slow drone of flowers arching
toward light, in the smooth curve of a vase, and in the small
of your eyes, where laugh lines hide furrows of eager seeds.
Looking in the mirror this morning, you were happy, the way
light learns to dance with water, the way a boat's anchor
will stay on the seabed. Whenever you feel the urge to kiss,
kiss the wind. Your lips were made for freedom, and this day,
a day for yeses, is the most important day of your life.
[Steve Mueske, 'A Day for Yeses', from A Mnemonic for Desire: Poetry]