Category: Nature Poetry

Despite many years of trying,
I am not
any more or any less
human.

I am neither the transcendent
nor the fallen,
neither star nor worm.

I am
what I have always been:

the lonely pen by the river
and the page waiting to be filled.

Petals like sun-fires

beam along on a sloping hill.

A field of stars rolls

along the horizon.

Flowers are blessed with dawn.

Initially
while looking
you are bound to miss
Worlds.

The longer you stare,
the more open your eyes.

The wider your eyes,
the more things seem to come alive,

but not just outside,
also within.

This is as obvious
as the ebony beetle
scuttling along the blade of grass.

I brought all these books
to read, thinking

in them I will find
something?

—but already around me,
atop leaves sweetly
                     floating in a green breeze,

already about me,
shimmering along cicada wings,

already within me,
             swirling
             in a whirlpool

                       of fight,
                           light,
                           and sex

is the knowledge
of life.
It falls freely and abundantly.