To Start

I'm a late beginner. Meaning, the moon's too high in the sky

tonight to even count this as day one. And, as this is a poem, 

I feel obliged to make good use of the moon. 

The moon's been good to me--except that one time when the tide

came up fast and I was just two and the ocean nearly 

swallowed me. Then there would've been a lot of life

missed, a lot of birthday cakes unbaked, crying spells averted, 

that first love never met, three hundred seashells uncollected. 

There's so much I'm just barely starting--needed all these extra years

(the undertow the first of several second chances) to get where

I am today. (I am. Thankfully.) I'm not talking about up top any corporate

ladder--or any mountain of any sort. I'm in the trenches, seeding

a garden; I'm under blankets, holding a lover; I'm on my knees, 

asking for more than I deserve: another day, a bouquet of flowers.