The only reason I am moved seeing clouds and hills mingle
is because
the intimacy of the world otherwise stays hidden
even though I know it’s there
(in animals calling
in the cave overflowing
in the food I’ve built on
in the song of the bat
and in rotting bodies unfolding)
I am touched each time I can see hand holding.
Mist
married to branches
married to me with my eyes,
stopping my work for a moment to say
“What a generous place is unveiling here!”
and
“We have enough.”