What momentary peace in the yard!--The peach
tree straining under the weight of its fruit,
the sound of water giving itself to gravity.
I stir my coffee and breathe. A solitary ant
scampers about my foot; in no mood for murder
or pain, I leave it be. The breeze pries loose
a Bougainvillea leaf from its vine. I partake
in the the sadness of plants, the anguish of
insects: hungry, thirsty, lost, seeking sun
or shade, the last crumb of nectar. Too much
is broken to return the ant to its hive, the flower
to its branch. I watch one zigzag to its death,
place the other in a mug to wilt beautifully.
Sprinklers come on, a rearguard action against
a drought made worse by my lust for wet earth
to plunge myself into. Though the future
is not bright, blades of grass moan with pleasure,
then bend under the weight of their engorgement.
And for a moment, the whole world knuckles under me
and I under it, intertwined, until sunlight drains away,
the Earth goes cold, and I shiver in the vast darkness.
What Weighs on Us
