The scientist and the poet

I watch a squirrel dig up
an acorn from the
vegetable garden, then
carry it away in her mouth.

Both scientist and poet
watch her furred body
coil along the fence line,
see the long tail flick
back and forth for balance,
wonder what the slick
cylindrical seed feels like
under tooth and tongue
and consider how acorns and
squirrels need one another
the way pulley needs rope,
imagine where the squirrel
might go next.

What else gets buried
and pulled back up
in a cloak of earth?

Fascination quickly
dream-cords its way
up to the clouds.

The sun’s magnetic
sway speaks to seeds
under the surface.

The language of
green cell splitting
into green cell
worthy of a thousand
questions, odes, love letters
written on paper pressed
from the very same blade.

Originally published in Consilience