Poems of Nature and Humankind

The grackles cackle. At the pond, wood ducks
pair off and fuck, the drakes

gleaming in their green imperial headgear.
The joggers begin the circuit, gleaming

in their expensive sweatsuits,
as if nature were only a backdrop.

It is nature that makes us unnatural.
This body I walk in remembers

its brief awkward beauty
bought at the cost of health, and the loss of that beauty.

It knows the pressures of death
and those of friends still alive but silent

as I follow my usual path, afraid
to pick up the pace. At the end

of the circuit, what remains but morning,
already unfolding its petals toward corruption?

There is only the sun, cold on the water,
the long walk home, the workday awaiting,

the mouths of the crocuses closing at nightfall,
the debts to be paid.