For Myozen Barton Stone

Digging in leaves with the zeal of a towhee,
digging in the pages of the book with zeal.

Dandelion down drifts in ambivalent wind,
lands lightly, and tenacity takes root.

The puddle’s a homecoming for the rain;
dancing we fall, and falling, fall again.

Snake skin shed on the trail suggests:
possibility leaves no reason to chase the past.

Basket of the wren’s nest high in the willow
waits for repairs, but won’t wait for long.

Vulture shadow swift on currents of light,
as silent and swift as the vulture’s flight.

Luminous and sapient, the fathomless world;
we face in reflection both on and of.