miracle = ordinary moment viewed with fresh eyes, made extraordinary
This has taken the form of a poem, which gives meaning to what would otherwise only be a list. I have paid no attention at all to format beyond keeping each verse to 4 lines. Ideally they should be read one by one anyway. One a day should suffice but there are 19 here because this is just a first attempt, I'm mostly playing with the idea. If 41.66 miracles per hour equates to 1,000 miracles over 24 hours, these 19 are about half an hour of a day. I have started at midnight.
At the zero hour it seems nothing exists
But the deep breathing of sleep
And the heaving of wind in darkness
Bowing trees as though dragons fly here
Down the wall a spider walks
Unseen, the whisper of eight feet
Unheard on the wallpaper, this is
A secret world, a spider’s world
Uncounted leaves stream, pulling
On thin stems, twisting loose, one leaf
Takes hold of the air, it has no plans
For landing, that will just happen
Droplets absorb the night, outside
Dark rain falls, the clouds
Thicken the sky, at the deepest
Point of our dreaming sleep
Too far above to permeate sleep
An aeroplane passes, full of journeys
Full of stories we will not hear, the travellers
Look down at patterns of streetlights
A lamp is left on, through a window
A dog can be seen twitching on a sofa
A coffee table supports two wine glasses, paper
Lists of what can be done when awake
The washing machine light is on
The last spin happened after bedtime
Fresh damp clothes wait inside
For the next phase
Curving further than the night sky
Of one mere planet, endless space
Light years of nothing, stars shine
Possibilities in the abyss
A sock lost under the bed, a left sock,
Literally. It will be searched for
And, from the odd sock pile,
Restored to a pair, folded together
Silence. The wind drops, the leaves
Hang in the still air, the spider pauses
The clouds are emptied, the dog sound asleep,
A scene encapsulated, like a microscope slide
From sleep, one sigh, for something
Aspired to, something that will carry
Into the day, follow the dreamer
Until the dreamer follows back
Limbs shift, covers uncover,
Disrupt rest, limbs tangle untangle,
Cozy back, settle, the drama
Resolves into contentment
Peaceful, acquiescent sleep
In this soft cotton dressed bed
The right place to be, the right time
Neither too warm nor too cold
Outside, a world the sun does not visit
Is familiar, the tides ebb and flow over sand
Dark waves roll, bring to the shore
The energy of night; endurance, catharsis
Deeper into the sea, sharks rest
In active currents, they have
Followed these instincts over
Millions of years
The spider crosses the floor
In stealth mode, a ripple of legs
A stack of eyes, ancient technology
In perfect working motion
Stars shine, always, above, between clouds
The light, the pinpoint light, streams
For years, it can be reaching earth
Long after the source has faded
The moon is not a light source
It reflects. Without the sun the moon
Has nothing to show in our sky
Moonlight is sunlight, diverted
This is a point, like all the others, from which
All other activity can be mapped
Lines can be drawn; if we drew them all
We would drown in ink
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