The seas of my imagining I bring
to bear in pewter cups, to serve
in life what some define as greed
and I as sweet prosperity.
I do not fear to lose a drop
for anything that spills can only land
on ground I’ve sown and tilled until
the evidence surrounds me singing,
soaring, resting in the highest boughs—
be they bobcats, kites, or whip-poor-wills.
Each of us to Nature is attuned
as animal, both human and divine,
immortal and enclosed in time. No thing
unnatural exists except belief, and even
this bi-pedal truth is brief and fine,
bestowed as mine through dendrites,
glial cells, and appetites—in joy
I thrive, in sorrow, seek relief.
What higher gnosis do I need,
a human naturally, to calculate
the cause and source, the birth
and death of anything?
© Elaine Stirling, 2015