I live on a living thing, on whose radiant crown I settle down.

Raking the leaves, like combing this elder giant’s hair, I care

For the land on which I stand. So much work, 

I scratch his head and wonder what it’s worth, but the garden

Was first. I arrived late and noticed who was greater. 

A blossom catches my eye, gone too soon,

Brings up the beginning. I make room,

Now ground for the original bloom. 

The lowliest to the high, I hand 

This borrowed lot back to the divine;

Buds, branches, whirling bees, return to sky.

Even this breath was never mine. 

Yet in this lightless soil, I know

Creatures step, take root, and grow.

My eyes close. I glimpse them bright, like sprites,

Who seemed mere garden buds when sewn,

Flicker, wing, and light me up: God’s ornament in my bones.