Globules of fat rain.
Animal tears from stratosphere to status-fear.
A flag, a scarf taken by the wind.
Harmonicizing cicadas say-to-ya
“Open windows and eat leaves! Puhleeze!”
This mist here is a barley parliament of species,
No mincing minister holds forth on the floor for long.
Only humans listen with that blissed-physicist history
Reduced to dim knowledge of catalogs of commentaries
on stories of the gold-boughed past.
If the Lake is a goblet, and the Earth a table,
Who is it throwing the feast?
Dogs have their own beach but coyotes
Got the whole park on lock each stop of the clock.
The birds don’t know they live in The Magic Hedge.
A sanctuary is not a sanctuary, it is scarcely nature-airy.
We are not their blandroid landlords.
The sky is an open wallet and riches
Trickle out like bears after hibernation.
This is the High-Bred Hybrid Nation,
Even squirrels are squires and scissortails citizens.