In the forest of old firs,
no one will walk but owls
opening and closing their wings
on needle-strewn paths.
No candles will light in the church manse.
Miners will lay down their picks.
The earth will turn on its axis
while people are sleeping.
In outer space cells of the sun
will collapse in explosions of gold gas
while dark clear holes open
where the heat is intense.
Somewhere a boat on an ocean
will rock back and forth on a slow wave
making a sound like the gentle
breath of a child.
South winds will rise
and the scent of black orchid
will wend its way toward heather
sequestered in ice.
From: Locust and Marlin, Shearsman, 2014