I want the intimacy
the bird has
with the duty-bound bee
dining on their innards
in the red oak tree

To stand tall
as the proud branch
the squirrel calls its home
welcomed in red-carpet-leaves
stripping bark to bone

I want the bite
of the patient snake
to shed the weary skin I've fashioned
to lie awake on sleepy hill
no chance of dinner passing

in view of the kitchen window at night
ruffled voiles billow softly inside
I want to know the voice
that raises living light
behind closed doors

to be the warm comfort
a cup of tea pours