Dear pen, give me what I want:
an ocean of green ink pouring out
precisely, a backward river flowing
from ocean to essence, small beginnings
deep in silent earth.
Dear mountain, give me what I want:
your willful intent to slow us and
show us, to lift us from our
flat perspective, to see
relief in the land.
Dear rain, give me what I want:
drops of the infinite and eternal,
which have fallen and risen
over and over again,
no worse for wear.
Dear night, give me what I want:
a chance to sharpen other senses,
quick fox sniff and feral cat ear twitch,
the will to find my path
without looking.
Dear stars, give me what I want:
the ability to see that a line in the sky
becomes a circle seen somewhere else,
even as your old light reaches
my searching eyes.
