A scroll of ash transcribes
a deposition for the gods.

The mountain wakes
to clear its throat.

Don’t tell the sea of how
the animals are daily herded back;

its vestments, shred, are still
more beautiful than night.

In the wilderness, even the soot-
smudged bees can lose the path

to honey; even the rain
can stumble and lose its way.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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