on the one hand, birds
scratch shadows across blue
their lemon-lit bellies head 
townward, thus it must be

time to rise and open silk
o, sleepyheaded spiders, prod
the root, let rhizomes ring out
the call to arms of grass

unless the hunchbacked
northeast thunder clears
his tarry throat again and
spits out snow. you cannot go

naked in this sun, though
by the map* it is at last come
to a provocative angle
sufficient to kickstart factories

somewhere in the universe
of cells, the ‘d’ begins bubbling
still, this cold sun demands
your cloak, and thus your time

face up to it, present
like a baby bird, your prayer
today, bring us sufficiency
and strength, feed us light

* the map is here https://www.grassrootshealth.net/document/sunshine-calendar/