In Solitude
let us take advantage of
this glorious day in a season
scarce with light. Bless
the squirrel who held the tree
until leaves returned. Bless
the gull who uttered enough
sky to honor both presence
and absence. Time rewound
Sundays that turned out to be
Mondays, Tuesdays and other
clocks. Breath and biome
spade in earth: joy still found us
though we grew late and small.