Quite a Lot of Weeds Here

​Quite a lot of weeds here, also
Crimson anemones and lilac cyclamens
At night the moon leaves patches of light
That spill into the black dens

Of the black bears. Let us walk
Through this forest. Let us leave
It a forest but make it a garden,
Birds that whir after they weave

Their nests, strong trunks, moss,
A wind blows, corrugated
Tree bark, it is a stillness,
Just the same fuzzy leaves, rotated

To reflect the blazing sun,
Its 93 million miles, so that
Each tendril and stone, each fallen
Pinecone, vibrate with a supernal chat,

The forest is a gift card sent
By Mandelbrot, its harsh
Corners are muted, the hornets
No longer sting, on the marsh

The peepers sing with longing,
The field awakens, says, I am
A field, the rose reveals her
Petals (to us, a cryptogram).