A sunbird dips her beak, sips nectar from the red tubes of Erica. A tree sprouts new limbs, branches for an owl’s nest and lookout.
The ocean surges, rinsing rock pools with oxygen;
the tides breathe anemones and sea urchins. A stream slows and swirls, caressing moss and tadpoles. The wind lifts a tuft of dandelion, explodes a tumult of cloud. Unexpected rain gusts against my window pane. Ants track a constant restless
black line across the kitchen wall, bringing grains of sugar back home for winter. A moth deposits a braille of eggs on the underleaf of lily. A saxophone plaits the notes of Summertime from a balcony during lockdown.
This poem seeps in quietly from the periphery.
by Dawn Garisch, May 2020