Posted on Friday, July 22, 2005 - 5:55 pm:

 
 
The woman under   
the sycamore tells   
herself about life on this   
planet filled   
with intricate   
delicacies of creation   
thousands to the inch   
in a square foot   
           of soil.   
   
Cross-legged she sits   
palms touching   
the earth as if to feel   
movement of creatures   
that squirm and wriggle   
in that bit of soil   
just beneath   
          her sight.   
There is no mystery   
about the things she knows-   
habits of grubs   
beetles and caterpillars   
the reason a bird's wing   
                  is just so.   
They are for her part   
and parcel of living.   
   
Remembering them she   
pays a strange homage   
makes them relevant   
and completely common   
to the moment in which   
               she lives.   
   
Others study stocks   
or art but she has learned    
to recognize the track    
of a muskrat left    
in soft mud    
beside a stream and she    
tells herself the story    
each time she finds    
               it there.