Each Thing Observed Closer

Now I weigh everything

on unseen scales of a kindness hewn

from new stone – my impulse to trap

spiders in a glass has flown,

it is as though the world has become a hall

of mirrors, throwing me endless faces

of my children. And so the slugs

in my kitchen are gentle, spared the salt.

So the spiders that echo my son’s curiosity

are carried on envelopes, placed reverently

on the porch. Even weeds are torn

with respect. I think of tribesmen who kill,

then pray, thanking the still-fresh beast

as they eat. Each day the pieces lace

more cleanly together,

the edges of my life-

questions curved, all life re-quickened

by maternal meekness.

A dandelion clock wheeling its silver tufts.

Three blue bobbing V’s in the brown

cup of a nest

high in the roof.

Two white boats in the bay – hands

asking and asking of the horizon.