Some Kind of News

It’s taken some time to trade the robe of Morning News
for a walking stick and comfortable pair of hiking shoes.

And now when I see that stained bedraggled covering
hanging in the back closet I cringe with distain; then relief.

Occasionally I think about taking it out to launder
but what would be the point? To have it stay fresh for one evening?

And yet you’re forgiven to ask why I just don’t throw it out.
Perhaps I need to feel it there: and that’s enough.

Enough as I step out into the yard of a budding reality
and see the morning glory weaving in and out,

telling its story to every juniper, to every new leaf
on every old tree, to every blackberry thorn it passes

as it braids its way to the light,
where it makes its home in the fullness of sun,

and I draw close, put my ear to the white trumpet, hear,
     “Fear not.”

and when some green sprout pushes through the ashes in me,
I think: now that’s some kind of news.