Garland of flowers and beads, of prayers
and breaths, rosary of alleviation—
even the gnats dancing in deep shade
figure somehow into this calculus.
But today I am past counting.
Today I want only to inhale
what comes to musk, especially
at evening. Even the crow flicks open
its dark parasol and wings away.
The river stones lie quietly under water:
not quite weightless but small
enough to turn and bevel at the edges.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.