CHARITY

The sun rises for the dogs who are blinded
by light. One day strides with its long legs
into the next. Charity works in the passing.

And the woman is grateful for her heart which
lets her down, thankful for foxglove blooming,
taller than her hopes, in the spotted light beyond

the wall. A brown toad pulses, a worm makes
good dirt — a woman takes her heart for a walk.
All light will rise like heat; shadow will save her

— even a poppy guards its purple cunning. Such
heart beats there — good darkness, footsteps and
blunders, a blind dog finding its long, late way.

First published in Poetry