How do these sequences happen?
Last night, this cottonwood was wrens
And then a whole host of robins.
This evening, just three Steller’s jays.
It’s like a rotation system.
Many of a kind, but one kind
At a time, not like picture books
Where trees may feature some of each,
Fine paint bouquets of kinds of birds.
A naturalist could explain it.
Now the mule deer are passing by,
Fond of humans’ broken woodlands.
Something in us wants assurance
Things thrive the way they ought to thrive,
To be reassured we haven’t
Bent all other lives’ ways of life,
But we don’t really know, do we,
How what’s alive ought to live life,
If what’s alive ought to live life?
Lives flow uphill to life, meanwhile.
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