MAPLE

          The lake scarlets
          the same instant as the maple.
          Let others try to say this is not passion.

LIGHTHOUSE

          Its vision sweeps its one path
          like an aged monk raking a garden,
          his question long ago answered or moved on.
          Far off, night-grazing horses,
          breath scented with oat grass and fennel,
          step through it, disappear, step through it, disappear.

EVOLUTION & GLASS

          For days a fly travelled loudly
          From window to window,
          Until at last it landed on one I could open.
          It left without thanks or glancing back,
          Believing only—quite correctly—in its own persistence.

INSOMNIA, LISTENING

          Three times in one night
          A small animal crosses the length of the ceiling.
          Each time it goes all the way one way,
          All the way back, without hesitation or pause.

          Envy that sureness.

          It is like being cut-flowers, between the field and the vase.