A single pod of seeds, the bare
redbud volunteer, come spring,
will obscure my view of the road;
the world beyond this black morning—
beyond the owl in the oaks above me;
the cobbled mumbles of the creek.
With the hillside chorus of coyotes
and canyon’s replies, the ridgeline
holds-up heaven’s brilliance
in a sky of stars—unabashed
and unafraid of any circumstance
that may engulf us all.