from NER 39.2 (2018)
One grief, all evening—: I’ve stumbled
upon another animal merely being
itself and still cuffing me to grace.
This time a bumblebee, black and staggered
above some wet sidewalk litter. When I stop
at what I think is dying
to deny loneliness one more triumph,
I see instead a thing drunk
with discovery—the bee entangled
with blossom after pale, rain-dropped blossom
gathered beneath a dogwood. And suddenly
I receive the cold curves and severe angles
from this morning’s difficult dreams
about faith:—certain as light, arriving; certain
as light, dimming to another shadowed wait.
How many strokes of undivided wonder
will have me cross the next border,
my hands emptied of questions?