Grace and Peace to you.
A flaming orange tree opens its heart to me.
It is not ashamed of its gift or its ardor,
not embarrassed at its naked passion.
The pond gives light as if it has saved it up,
the light from underneath the pond,
light of trees reflected, the open eye of sky,
mists evaporating, with jewels of geese,
chosen and held, wrapped until today.
The tall grasses nod and wave and bow,
as if toward saints they bow,
in silly exuberance they wave, in reverence they bow.
Something in me lets go like a leaf:
from a flower among spent flowers
a bee on its faithful little errand lifts clumsily
and swings through the tinged air—
and I fall in love.
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