a boy wearing his white
coat zooms peppery
figure eights

while like a tree, I stand
at the center 
of infinity.

scales drop away
as I look from eyes fresh
for this yard:

wet jade carpet strewn
with bay leaves, 
pine cones,

a yellow leaf falls from a 
raspberry cane, one fat
winter rosehip.

I listen to the 
wind while chickadee familiars
hop the fence, 

grey squirrel makes his
everyday leap into the
holly bush,

and figs grow plump
in December, auspicious
winter harvest.

A crux in our towering
fir is bed to the
racoon family 

and one night, a lone
owl perches there to blow
her song.

standing in the yard,
I wait for her next
breathy note,

voice from an
other world,
alto yearning

then notice a shape
across the fence,
waiting too.

crushing the last light from
the day, dark sky presses
down at four

and Marvin’s orange 
leash traces symbols 
of infinity.

still like a tree, I
marvel: my eyes fresh 
for this yard.