I read of a mystic who, as a child,
fell backwards, his endearment
for creation needing to race
beyond the boundaries
of his body, when he had looked up
and witnessed the dark underbellies
of flying geese framed against the sickly
verdant clouds of a thunderhead.

I nearly fell over myself tonight
looking up and witnessing the black
veins of the Pin Oak framed against
the city's navy orange overcast.
But I stopped myself long before
a full tumble because I worried
what the neighbors might think.

The grace of creation is always there
to be witnessed, and courage
is the good sense to put the miracle
of belonging well before the loss.