By Lucille Clifton

today we are possible.

the morning, green and laundry-sweet,

opens itself and we enter

blind and mewling.

everything waits for us:

the snow kingdom

sparkling and silent

in its glacial cap,

the cane fields

shining and sweet

in the sun-drenched south.

as the day arrives

with all its clumsy blessings

what we will become

waits in us like an ache.