Enough beginnings each day, though
they exist not in a way I imagine they
should or in the drama of each day’s
flexing. Our sense of nationalism
isn’t what we guess it should be,
but belief molds to us and not
the other way around. Each house
could be a museum but for what?
A child rolling over, smiling, standing
up for the first time? Cardinals
everywhere? A nest large enough
to hold a dozen others? I’d rather
stop all thought patterns and will
each of us into a single firework
exploding cautiously in the sky,
trailing down to the waters below.