(complain)

In the mornings
I complain on
paper.
At the end of the
day I document
the good news.
What small joys
were sent,
like the tinkle
of the wind chime
just now from
the back deck.
This spring blue
sky which fits
against the mountain
like quilt pieces
cut from cloth.
The feeling of my
fat fountain pen
as it dances
across the page.

3/8/99