Ordinary Miracles (by Erica Jong)

Spring, rainbows,
ordinary miracles
Which about
Can Be nothing new said.

The stars on a clear night
of a New England winter;
the soft air of the islands
along the old
Spanish Main;
pirate gold shining
in the palm;
the smell of roses
to the lover's nose. . .

There is no more poetry
written to Be
of These Things.
The rainbow's sudden revelation -
behold!
The cliche is true!
What Can one say
But that?

So too
with you, little heart,
little miracle,

But You Are
miracle in less
Being ordinary is.

Erica Jong