On Certain Afternoons

 

On certain afternoons

     the radiance of things

          just as they are, requires

no politics, no ideology.

     First it rains,

          then the sun comes out,

the warming and cooling

     of the globe, the rising

          and falling of my diaphragm.

Both Winter and Summer

     I am free, no more important

          than a morning glory.

Most of my DNA

     I share with a mouse,

          infinitude with gnats.

Endangered herds stampeding

     through earth’s wounded valleys

          I gather into my marrow,

protecting vast swaths of rain forest

          with a single breath.
I'm certain that a weed

     in its stillness is awake,

          a blossoming forget-me-not.

Rooted in listening, I also flower

     with no seed of thought.

The loam is my Being.

     Wonder is the incense of my heart.

          May my fragrance expand

               beyond all gardens.

Come, you lovers of late Spring,

          the gates are never closed.

The rain-disheveled azalea

     will not begrudge your insouciance,

          nor the rose your burning fingers.

Let each dare to whisper

     in your own tongue,

          "Smell me, I am wild!"

Water color by Marney Ward.