Inspiration, that elusive nymph,

will play with you, peeking

out from shapes between clouds

to tease and tempt, before sneaking

into the lilies’ golden throats

where she hides, eventually

becoming the glint in the moon’s

sly smile until dawn when she dares

you to spy her in the birds’

crowded carnival, and then

just when you think you

have found her, she transforms

into rain’s silvery scent

until you try to capture

her with cork and bottle,

at which point she becomes

just tired, nestling into

your breast pocket where

she knows you do not

have the imagination

to look for her.

Lately, more hummingbird

than butterfly, which is to say

more flitting than floating, more

trying than trusting.

 

Lately, more hummingbird

than butterfly, which is not to say

one is more lovely, or one

more necessary.

 

Lately, more hummingbird

than butterfly, which is to say

soon I will stop spinning

and start gliding again.

Soaking up sun, stars, rain,

no wonder those kernels

taste so sweet

 

Ecstatic green arms

dance to wind’s

frenzied drumming

 

Two hands that let go if they are too full,

two eyes that droop if they aren’t closed enough,

two feet that blister after so many miles,

two ears that burst after too much listening,

and one heart  that keeps opening wider

which might be cute and even

a little funny if only grace was

 

merely a metaphysical principle

or a way to handle things, and not

 

a 53-year-old woman on her way

to work.  I rear-ended Grace today,

 

got distracted by the radio,

couldn’t hit the brakes in time.

 

You might think that rear-ending

Grace would result in an explosion

 

of elegance or a shower of

redemption, but all I got from it was

 

a smashed bumper, a thumping heart,

and an increased premium. I rear-ended

 

Grace today, a reminder to pay more

attention to everything, especially grace.

Because there is no protocol for spending

what may be your last days

with the aging dog you’ve been petsitting

for the past four years,

you may feel awkward

and even a little self-conscious

staring into those cloudy eyes

while your heart urges your clumsy body

to lie down beside her, nestling your head

into the fatty tumors on her torso.

 

Once you succumb to this primitive nudge

you will be so glad you did.

Her crippled body will welcome you

while her tail becomes a pendulum of gratitude.

She may lick your face or arm, appreciation

for your plunge into fear of loss.

 

You will need to tell your mind

to let go of anything

that may dilute this experience.

Just be with her,

letting her know how much she means to you,

how even though taking care of her disrupts

your routine and adds

to an already long list of obligations,

you were always glad to do it and would have

done it even if you weren’t getting paid.

 

Lay there as long as you need to,

giving and receiving.

Stand up when you’re ready–you’ll know–

and go back to watering plants

while she dozes and twitches,

both of you smiling,

blessed.

Woolly, fat, and free,

rolling in sweet nectar

find everything they need

My heart trips over itself

to see the faces

of those old, familiar friends

whose colorful spines

comfort like nothing else can.

You taught me about stoneflies,

the swarming precision

of propagation,

their careful adherence

to principles of evolution.

 

You showed me nymphs

emerging from adobe huts

on stones underwater,

midges waiting for wings,

pods of eggs nestled under algae,

a biology lecture with props.

 

You pointed out the riffles

where the fattest fish feast,

and we studied which insects

tempted them most, strategized

the angles we should cast.

 

But it was you, so alive,

so drunk on wonder,

leaping from rock to rock,

splashing in enthusiasm

that taught me everything

I really needed to know.

First, the sting of cold

attacking every nerve,

then the thunder of pain

thickened with the wisdom

that soon a wave of numb

will deaden all sensations

but delight.