This morning, the world is
sparrows in a bush by the window,

a raw wind & branches down, a nest
among them, an undecided light.

Each morning, I am an animal,
body warmed or chilled, between

granted land & cupped sky, always
at the center. Each morning,

the world becomes World, an idea.
I stand apart & see it

working, bee with flower, bird
with seed, trees rasping shiftless clouds

from the sky, myself a self
inspecting. Myself a mind telling

the life of a tree, nut to stump,
bird-haven, reservoir of rain.

Myself a mind inventing
how one single thing lives

in both worlds, the pictured & the sensed,
how each lonely thing is a dovetail

joining our sundered selves, & so
should be loved completely, with embrace

of form, & as animals love,
without resistance, without relent.