I saw a small frog sitting in tall quack grass beside a wild blueberry bush.
Beneath the elder, I see the wet canvass roof from the morning dew.
Within the hush and leafy hum of aspen I hear a throaty sparrow.
This is enough holiness for the length of the day.
Last night I heard the growl of a train in the valley,
and then I heard the tri-tone whistle.
That sadness was comfort enough in the centre of night,
when things fly through walls and windows,
and I remember smiling.