Somehow the veil lifted today,
though it closed a few minutes from waking.
We are so often followed out of bed
by the griefs we fell to sleep with.
Next time I shall anticipate
a lessening of weight above, around.
As a change in weather pressure,
or a break in the clouds admits sunlight.
And I shall rush underneath,
as though I’m my own hopeful miracle-maker
and like a parachute,
shall take the veil’s edge,
lift it over trees.
Make a little window,
where for a time I might see unimpeded.
Yes, I am sure that ever
we must be our own faithful help-meets.
Someone taps us on the shoulder,
but in response we lift up our heads.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry