mirandas and marigolds

pretty juniper, how do you permit purples,
and how are you disgusted by me?

I pick these unaccompanied mirandas and all the marigolds needed
for a crown of orange sunbursts fit for a king,
and lie awake under starbursts and a mirroring moon,
knowing these occasions are minute, fleeting.

I am at home in Ohio when the maple leaves open their palms to wrap me in the hands of trees
and movement of sky.
this earth holds and turns -
pretty papers, lanterns, linens,
coffee mugs, pens -
all our human trap held in these things.

I am less concerned now that the oak and tulip trees are black against their leaves
in the dampness of spring
although I still get the urge, the itch, that this is not all there is.