More and more I have come to admire tenacity. 
Not the small tokens of breadcrumbs, which are trailed
throughout the house, but the simple 
resistance of a foot: sinking again and again into the sand, 
it disappears and emerges new. A mirage, true.
But out of such repetition arose tides, sunflowers,  
honeycomb, petals- all this persistence, pragmatic life. 
                        

After Mary Oliver 

That there is only one of you. So precious, life. 
What will we do with your wildness? 
It is possible we will toss it to the wind like dandelion seeds 
or press it to the chest like a love letter.
Watch as the grasshopper folds her wings like the string of a violin in evenings symphony. 
Listen as night settles into its foundation. 
Sigh escaping into the air like a lover’s prayer for remembrance. 
We do not know who made the world though some have their ideas. 
The grasshopper may not know either but still she puts wing to wing and plays 
like nobody and everyone were listening.