I’m always whisked to midnight / by ugly wind.

I think, “It must be she, the tree, standing attentive ...

I suppose I have been this man, regardless of what can be said of me

The tree buds are swelling, and spring emerges

the moths on paper towels are too perfect to move

lying on the smooth wooden bottom / of a drawer, suckling rhythmically at the air

Know the way /hollow openings lead to a surface, the way a girl’s / knees know clutching tree bark will keep / her from falling.

kicked around by tourists, / buried from the midnight / sun

carry on forthwith, let’s face it / we know so many helpless things

My biggest sin was always / looking for meaning

Entropy and emergence— / This is left as an exercise for the reader.

We build walls between ourselves and nature.

Though nothing natural / Can save them now.

The sunflowers don spiderweb veils, / carefully beaded with dew.