A scroll of ash transcribes
a deposition for the gods.
The mountain wakes
to clear its throat.
Don’t tell the sea of how
the animals are daily herded back;
its vestments, shred, are still
more beautiful than night.
In the wilderness, even the soot-
smudged bees can lose the path
to honey; even the rain
can stumble and lose its way.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.