Tell me: orchard mornings, wandering for love
through the wet grass, snails on the fallen pears
all night, glistening, growing fat with sweetness.

Wind or no wind at all, sprinkler-hiss, tell me:
sunrays on the mountain, sea-spray in the air,
dark happy birds.  By which pale star did Life

drag itself out of the muck and start to humming?
The universe, vacuums, tell me, tell me all day:
God's good plan for cold dew and shriveled feet.