Listen

Listen. Here is the world. I am giving it to you.

Listen. Here is the world. I am giving it to you.

Here is the cat. She is carefully crouched in the long grass,
stalking a sparrow clipping seeds atop a rotting stump. 

Here is the bee. He is swaying drunk on a bluebell,
the flower’s lips nearly kissing the dirt 
under the weight of all his love.

Here is the silver mist being burned away by the sun 
through the leafy trees. Being lifted from the grass 
like smoke from yesterday’s fire, crawling 
up the horizon. And light beginning 
the dandelion, bright and bursting, 
releasing feathery children
into the rays of the sun.

And the morning rowers silently skim the quicksilver lake.
And you are drowning in the gardenia’s perfumed obscenity.

So, listen. This is the world. I have given it to you. 

The sun burns away the metallic mist 
and glows the grass and the crouched cat 
and the heedless sparrow, the unruly bee and through the trees, 
through the leaves of the trees, a crow, tilting 
tilting his head, following the invisible wind
and maybe he suddenly breaks for the sun 
through the leafy trees and cracks the light, and somewhere
out the other side there is left a bigger breach in the world 
for both of us to gather more life through.