The Raspberries in My Driveway

Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eyes level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain.

—Thoreau

The raspberries

in my driveway

have always

been here

(for the whole eleven years

I have owned

but have not owned

this house),

yet

I have never

tasted them

before.

Always on a plane.

Always in the arms

of man, not God,

always too busy,

too fretful,

too worried

to see

that all along

my driveway

are red, red raspberries

for me to taste.

Shiny and red,

without hairs—

unlike the berries

from the market.

Little jewels—

I share them

with the birds!

On one perches

a tiny green insect.

I blow her off.

She flies!

I burst the raspberry

upon my tongue.

In my solitude

I commune

with raspberries,

with grasses,

with the world.

The world was always

there before,

but where

was I?

Ah raspberry—

if you are so beautiful

upon my ready tongue,

imagine

what wonders

lie in store

for me!