The daylily stranded in dirt,
its morning flame doused by sunset;
the arctic tern, decades in midair
in search of love and accommodation;
a river, always ancient, always new,
moving and immovable at once;
this improbable earth,
twirling without a partner,
doing laps around a wandering star.
And I, carbon and spark,
volleys of air and carbon dioxide,
and some motive force
that makes me lean into the exile
of loving something all alone.
