was stretching long ancient arms past
all obstructions, to let light bathe 
His tenderly loved domains, I thought 
about winter, and a jet winked back
at the morning, light skidding from wingtips

As birds of other purpose skipped
through limbs of elm awakening, then lifted
Morning songs and I desired to tend
small gardens along curving lanes, to live
in round delicacy, wise because of wind

With sufficient food, and ample grace 
to take and sing my part, conducted
by the Master of the Sky, multi-named 
and constant, friend of all, servant of light
Celebrant at whose whim and fierceness
we bend in accord with the singing.

Image courtesy Giani Pralea on pixabay.com