How to measure a life?By mistakes gathered in mounds, in hills, in mountains?By years of anxious caution?The marriage that should not have been?The son born to be the hope of the world—the hope of my world—who defeated himself at every turn,defeated me at every turn?And then—just when we had begun to like one another—died.Do I measure by words thrust like poison arrows,lobbed like bombs?By a world disintegrating around me?By the grave I skip, dance, march, plod closer to each day?Or should I measure my life by applause, achievement?Moments of peace gathered in an open palm?By the love I have learned,at last,to live?The daughter growing daily in gentleness?The grandchildren blooming, blooming?Every word set so lovingly on the page?By a world that recreates itself,again,again,again.By the undying life that birthed me?Or do I measure this momentonly this moment,breath in my lungs,earth’s breath at my windowpane,stars breathing light?The goodness of it all,the deep goodness of it all,the precious goodness of it all.