I used to think the land
had something to say to us,
back when wildflowers
would come right up to your hand
as if they were tame.
I used to think the land
had something to say to us,
back when wildflowers
would come right up to your hand
as if they were tame.
Now the moth can stop
beating his head
hopelessly against the lampshade,
and I can forget about words that won’t come.