MIRACLES.
Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses towards the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk in the day with any one I love or sleep in the bed at night with one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,