What's going on

What’s going on

I am not yet awake, just dazy eyes
gazing out into reality, my world
which ends up being enough happiness
to make the day worthwhile.

That man who used to sell me coffee
has the warmest blood
flowing beneath his tattooed skin,
behind his smile, through his beating heart.
His brown hair is growing.
I thought of him as I thanked him for the coffee,
(and I think about him now.)

Later, as I wiped away the juicy remnants
of that fuzzy, ripe summer peach
I remembered the nature and conditions
and thought and work and tender care
behind its being: all that brought it to my hand.

In the nighttime I see the moon that everyone sees
if they look. I still wonder about those bricks
that make up the wall that supports the building
upon whose wooden floor I used to sleep.
I wonder about the men who made the bricks,
who laid the bricks, who drew the plan of that place, still standing:
and I love them.
I touched those bricks being rained on, being looked at by others.
I think about the other sets of eyes, the others who will look at,
who have seen those bricks.

The others, like all others, are not me.
The others, like all others, they are me. We are same.
Helping make the world go ‘round
with some, or a lot, of goodness within.