i wait between the staccato kissings of crickets
and the moonlit lightning of an
i know more sense than sense,
more gift than giving.
and every japanese tree leaf
a private fan for every glo-worm,
i feel all reason and purpose
as a huff-puffed sun sizzles to a stop
and undresses unashamed.
and that great man with shoulders
digging for unfinished business,
the salt water clinging to his lip.
he, too, is beautiful.
the nearsighted ladybug, whom the ocean
walks along a beer-canned beach
discussing the evils of humanity
with the nearest pebble.
i wonder with her.
i wonder at movement,
at the cause of all this caused
and understand as the storm is born.