Fluff

Of pollen freed

           from anther drifts

                       into woods, what

naturalists term

           “a troubled landscape”

                       and you call “beautiful.”

Somewhere

           you knew that

                       humans trouble

all we touch

           though that

                       was intuition.

To translate farms,

           houses, sheep

                       and cows, cities,

sewers, power

           stations, satellites,

                       spies, the grab for

power like the grab

           for mineral rights:

                       humans cannot

stand uncertain

           or imaginary

                       gain. You think,

imagination has

           no power. Yet

                       what else makes

our feelings sway

           and moves us

                       with such force

we wake up as

           if (your case)

                       from near-

death: a cave that

           yawned before

                       you, abra-

cadaver, and

           something (some-

                       one) murmured,

Only flesh

           knows love,

                       I guess.

Your one foot

           lifted to cross

                       over, one

eye opening to

           stay, and now

the reason why.