What to do when Half the galaxy gets Snagged in your olive tree: Relax, examine peripheries For what tangles let Fall and roll free. It's small, very very Like a glowing berry Escaped from its spoon. Pick it up, it is the moon. Throw it way up high. The stars will chase it Up, up into the sky.
There is a moontree on Our property that only Grows one, then it's done, According to need-- the Rest goes to seed. You see, when the moon Wears out --but hasn't Yet-- one is all one gets. We will not go without.
In mind, invisible Fog shovelers scrape A path clear and pile Divisible mist on Either side, allowing Me, defined as here. I am following behind This, and upon that Path, decide to go And pursue order. What lies past its Borders, I don't know.
[Normavid of a chippering chorus --crank up volume]
Sudden colonies in Low branches-- Bushtits, finches-- Full of discussion, Oration, midwinter Debate 'til late Afternoon; each Chirp opening new Warbles ahead Of a rising moon.
Reflection under Raindrops includes Sky and tree tops Over rippling light. There might be new Wildflowers seeding -- Or weeds needing mud Here in these woods As well as trees, and After dry years, that Is good, very good.
