Just right, sunlight
fits my valley all in green,
perfect, shining morning green,
perfect from first sight.

And there, the waxing moon,
looping in the practically perfect
position to slosh sea to shore, now
gives me time to call just right

the ratio of all together being seen
in transition, quotidian repetition,
never once in vain, since
the moon first fitted in to place.

Time first,
then place, this was here, before me,
and it fits at every measure,
the bit of me that sees how hard
it must have been to keep shining.