The Deeps of Space Their Blue

The black road spilled like ink
In the snow, the wet in

The cold to let you know
This light is not so cold,

And it smells clean, like washed
Clothes on a line in wind,

That damp snap that makes you
Glad you did all that work

To hang this up here, this
Scene, these white sheets, the wind.

Three Tunes at Once

The tone of this bell in my ears.
The wind as it walks through the woods.
The hum with no life of its own.

Share in Our World

A big cat talks. Do we know what she means?
Are there names in her speech, rules for her words?

When she’s done, she turns, pads back to her pride
And lies down to nap to dusk. What of us?

What have we learned from what she said just then?
Which one of you taped what she said? Took notes?

Can we work it out? How hard could it be?
We care too much for beasts that speak, for us.

The world said us, and all we’ve said, it says,
And all that’s said—or purred or sung—it says.

Poor world, poor Earth, to have to talk like this.
Poor us, poor worlds that must talk back to it.