Breakfast tea with a dash of sweet poem
7:30 a.m. Just woke up and made myself a pot of Tea Forte Cocoa Truffle with a teaspoon of sugar. (I ran out of coffee the other day which set me off into a mild panic 
but I made myself tea instead and that calmed me down pretty quickly. These gourmet teas are so delicious.)
So, checking emails. Did not turn on the TV to my usual rattly bit of morning news. Inbox treat – a few poems from my friend Jam.
This one I particularly love:
The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion, and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers shifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.
Isn’t it beautiful. It’s perfect for how I feel right at this juncture, this moment. I’m really happy and peaceful to just be here.
When we’re open to them, poems speak to us — to me – and resonate more keenly and life takes on a poetic flavor. Does this sound mawkish? Not to me. Life set to poetry, music, prayer, the intangibles between the lines and spaces of our daily existence, is just so much more meaningful.
If I imagine my life in two acts, this one is the second, the first act not wasted but a necessary preparation and paving of the way for this exciting, anticipated second. “I will land on my feet this time, knowing at least two languages and who my friends are.”
I am an open hand, a beckoning.
“..a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up…”
I think it’ll be my theme for the year at least. 
That’s a really lovely poem. I think it speaks to many of us, albeit in different ways. I understand the juncture you are referring to. Where you are and where I am are totally different, but certainly, I am at a juncture myself. I especially like your last few lines about having the first act of your life as being necessary…puts regret in the bin. Thanks for sharing.
Hey V —
Yes exactly. (Forget regret, or life is yours to miss – Rent) I try not to regret anything. And I’m getting so good at landing on my feet (where I used to fall flat on my face.) Thanks for sharing too, I love sharing in where you’re at, your juncture 
Sienna, I have gone back to re-read this poem from your blog a few times now – may I ask permission to either copy or if I figure it out, maybe link to this? =)
Of course!
I printed it out too.