a poem for the discontent

what i would like
to say
is that i wish i knew
how to give you
something more than this day

this day
being laid like the transcontinental
rail, track going down
with the train at its back

yes, take that train
on prairie sheaves
the golden sea of time

life is not endless
true and yet
tomorrow--anything--
some mountain may lend its gentle form
to the wide incessant blue

but here is
another day laid out neat and blank
in morning fog and dew

a life like
a light green bungalow

how could you know
that it is made beautiful
precisely because you live in it?

i wish
that someone would
tell this to you.