Nature Is Your Lover Now

I dream of insects — large bright green

grasshoppers, the woman picks one up

when I thought she might have shied —

bright green insects in my clothes

balanced at the edge of my plate, grass-

& leafhoppers, brighter than ambient.

What if it’s too much light? Dead bugs

& lint balls surround me — extricate

disentangle embrace, what I culled from what

Susan said, my very own battle ground

sunrise over the lake, the slothfulness

of morning impedes me — shoulder of pond

base of tree, an egg at every hand

clang of a metal container, behemoths

bearing loads across a bridge, shelves

laden, artificial universal largesse.

Where are the gaps for what has been taken?

What won’t be replaced? Fill each gap

with sleeping stones waiting for stories.

A lake is a suburban compromise, mirror

of light, humble reflections, now pink

clouds in standing water — green black

purple silver. Nature is your lover now,

Laurel says — once I discovered Nature

& everything else were not all the same

I became the sassiness of mallards

strolling the dock, an egret fishing

familiar, the golden golden green marsh.