Bright Day

I sing this morning: Hello, hello. I proclaim the bright day of the soul. The sun is a good fellow, the devil is a good guy, no deaths today I know. I live because I live. I do not die because I cannot die. In Tuscan sunlight Masaccio painted his belief that St. Peter’s shadow cured a cripple, gave him back his sight. I’ve come through eighty-five summers. I walk in sunlight. In my garden, death questions every root, flowers reply. I know the dark night of the soul does not need God’s eye, as a beggar does not need a hand or a bowl.