The thick, sharp scent of pine
A few steps more—a switch
To fine, smooth cedar in the air;
Two steps forward, two steps back:
The Breath who moves where he wills sent it all.

The sun sparkles from the south
Between the needles, dark as night;
Shadows envelop the north bark
And without a sound lichen grows;
Inaccessible Light watches over this place.

They tell me these green wisps can heal;
Bitter truffles, but I wouldn’t know—
I leave it well alone; though peeking behind a fir
The community garden can be glimpsed.
The Owner of All keeps this place.

A bluejay, like the crow but as if rehearsed
By Garfield, Tom, or Sylvester; next,
A merlin surprisingly pleasant and crisp:
All is moving, waving closely, then distantly;
The Great Spirit stirs it all.

Face-up on a carpet of moss lies a small child,
And his hand reaches overhead to rough bark,
Softer to press than he expected; his toes brush a rock
And whatever that was—he laughs at the possibilities.
The One Who Made Us formed all this.