The furnace is a mindfulness bell
and I am an unworthy but earnest monk.
That quiet click on January’s coldest night
returns me to the core, returns me
to gratitude for warm air about my body,
warm tile beneath my bare feet.
The simple knowledge of food in the cupboard,
fire in the furnace, the rent paid
through the month of July.

If few people love me, that is okay,
and if they seldom show their affection, fine.
I have the click of the thermostat
and the rush of heat through the vents
to bring me back to the circle
of breathing, thinking, remembering,
This art of always returning.

– Robert L. Penick