Never before in life has anything been loved
As much as this: scoops of soil and sky
Laid handful by handful by the hand of the eyes—
Blue, and brown below the blue (a touch of
November here and there).

We look fields into tomorrow
And tomorrow’s morrow: the visual world
Continually emerging: it’s a
Land bridge stretching, filling the blue-black
before and after.

We stare the land’s exaltations into life: wild
Turkeys crossing a silver-frosted plain
Glints of morning light off their wings, glistening
Sharp and unmistakably present.

We see—
Ever-making the unmade one pebble at a time
One mud-rippled contour after another, and roots
Gnarled and endless, drop like thirsty steps
Into the loosening gravel ahead.