Opening the screen door, you find a fat spider
poised at the threshold. When I swat it,
hundreds of tiny crawling spiders burst out.
What space in the mind bursts into waves
of wriggling light? As we round a bend,
a gibbous moon burnishes lava rocks and waves.
A wild boar steps into the road, and around
another bend, a mongoose darts across our headlights.
As spokes to a hub, the very far converges
to the very near. A row of Siberian irises
buds and blooms in the yard behind our bedroom.
A moth flutters against a screen and sets
off a light. I had no idea carded wool spun
into yarn could be dipped and oxidized into bliss.
Once, hunting for chanterelles in a meadow,
I flushed quail out of the brush. Now
you step on an unexpected earthstar, and it
bursts in a cloud of brown spores into June light.