All night long I moved the furniture.
I was cautious; inched it around
the carpeted room warily, careful
not to torque it out of joint, or
mar the finish. When I was done,
everything rested perfectly
where it had been to start with,
where it belonged all along,
and I, waking, pleased
to find it so arranged, went out
into the morning for a smoke.
I have seen the tea rose triple its size
in a season here, where almost anything
sown or dropped carelessly will bloom
and flourish. I have seen crows,
grown fat on carrion in winter, fatten
further on the summer’s wayward corn.
Now, I stand on the deck in the morning,
inhaling and exhaling the fog, floating
far above the slowly greening day
and the prospect of sunlight on soil.