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.