Standing still for a minute in the park, it’s like a Disney movie—the birds and squirrels gather round.  All I need are deer and butterflies…

What’s the difference between this bird, with his mohawk and orange beak, turning sideways to look at me with one bright eye, and the new leaves swaying behind him?

Plants and animals split off from an earlier life-form.  And on the sea floor there are vegetables with mouths.

The tulips, so upright and alive, like a teenage choir.  And this squirrel rising up on two legs to stare at me.

Look at those shoulders, arms and forearms, chest.  Even a navel!

No doubt we communicate creature to creature.  I try to beam him good will.  Can’t eat good will.  He scampers off, with a single curse, then leaps onto the trunk of a tree, powers up the spiral stair.  Our one encounter in this life…

And the tulip.  Little ice cliff of flower flesh.  Mentally, I draw eyes on you, undo them.  Something surges in me that may be akin to photosynthesis or the rising of sap.  Is it possible, is it even remotely possible, that the tulip is exhilarated by its viewers?

The birches are radiant in themselves.   And then there’s sun from a clear sky, on them, on all the trees, shining on the people carrying their coats, showing skin–a whole radiant atmosphere connecting everything. 

Birds and squirrels—we get to see you pursue your purpose, and we change it, unimportantly; if it wasn’t me, it would be a noise, or even an inner impulse.

Bird with the orange beak, perched on a low wire fence.  I know this will be brief.  But it’s actually lasting a while, through many jerky frame by frame movements of your head… 

Branch of new leaves, you work your magic on me.  You’re not going anywhere.  I sink into you, smiling.  Pure life shining.  Something in me lets your swaying slow my heartbeat.