Don’t abandon the day just yet,
don’t give up the chance that
something may manifest, may
metamorphose. Life spills
through this garden, life
buzzes and sings
in unfamiliar voices.
The ant wandering 
the wide wooden chair arm
has purpose, the Steller’s jays
squawking high up in the thick
white-flowered Hawthorn tree
know what they’re on about,
the white-crowned sparrow
hopping underneath
apricot-colored azalea blooms
doesn’t wonder why she’s here.
Asparagus pushes up
outside the raised planter box,
grows two feet tall before 
it knows it, before
you notice, harvest
the sweet flesh
meant for you.
                        

Sometimes you need
a dead day to revive. Too little
sleep the night before,
anxiety of departure even when
leavetaking’s temporary.
An appointment with yourself
as useless as the unknown bird’s
complaints high in the thickly-
flowered Hawthorn tree 
leaning from the neighbor’s yard, 
white petals raining down each time
they’re bumped by breeze.
Probably the bird’s chant
serves a purpose you don’t
know. Maybe you have to
worry yourself into exhaustion
so later you can see
chickadee and azalea,
Steller’s jay and sword-fern.
Sun splashes your face,
sun moves across
the wooden deck chair where
you sit each morning waiting
for the words to come.
Now you know the robin’s voice 
because last night it let you
watch it as it perched
and hopped across 
the fence-top. A crow flaps 
overhead, something tasty
clenched in its beak.