Sitting still to look with better eyes.
It’s how we beckon to the deep magic.
Call the trees down from themselves.
All places shall become leafed and needled.
Snap and make kissing sounds to the
stones. The closest ones will wobble closer.
You can’t build your house here.
The deep magic will have no neighbors.
We take what we can take while we are here.
You watch the rocks and the pond. I’ve got
the fog, the poor posture of the trees.
One day, far from here, a tree will shrug
and I will see it. You will find a rock in your
pocket. It’s the deep magic checking in.