Out here
in the barely inhabited,
the wind through the trees
is a stampede
'cross the expanses within,

the glimmer through the birches
the continents
from the International Space Station

or a starry night sky
in somebody's youth
or long due last breath

I sense the tumbling
of moments
as a herd
of playful elephant calves
on the savannah

I know I can't simply acknowledge
the sun causally,
it being the source
of all that I am;
the source of the anti-entropic energy influx
that makes growth and development
and evolution
possible,

that drives this pencil
across this page
in a soft-spoken September afternoon
in the north

Nobody talks;
everything says something

I admit
to my existence,
for the time being

I sit on the steps of the porch,
facing south-west,
the sun in my eyes,
as Anna arrives from work;
a warm hood cooling down
in the confines of the garage;
young tinker Moses ready
to take Anna riding
as Thursday afternoon weighs in
at 5 PM