I cannot help it.This world delights
me. I know
I should dig around
in peat bogs for insight
or ironize the life Even in the
out of all and sundry: bare purple of
cautious, careful, critical, a wych elm
pacing the poetry in midwinter
until it is flattened mourning
to prose. I can
hear the sap
to meet me
with my name.
The wind can have my caution.
May we be blessed with delight today.