The World Is Just (Waking Up)

first thing
phone
check time
slept in

The world is ending.

second thing
outside
water plants
seedlings sprouted

The mocking bird dances
in the dew for his meal.
The rabbit chews familiar grasses.
The mottled hen leads her ducklings along.
The ibis advances his solitary hunt.
The egret, like a true Napoleon,
stands mighty tall
as he contemplates the rooftops.
The brown anole takes shelter
in the bluebell foliage.
The red anole rests in the shade
of a coco plum leaf.
The green anole disguises himself
as the passion flower,
arms outstretched and smiling.
The agama is on his usual quest
for destruction,
and the flies pay fair recompense
to his flattened corpse.
The iguana flutters his aspirational wings
as he scurries beneath the chain-link fence.

The Sun, now risen above the tree line,
transfigures the backs of my eyelids
to St. Peter’s pearly gates,
and he doesn’t ask me any questions,
seeing as he already has the answers.

The dill is overwhelmed
by the too-much-rain
after the too-long-drought.
The mint is happy and quiet.
The rosemary—sprawling.
The stock pot—rolling.
The world is just
waking up.

Attend to its first breaths
and first sights
beyond that womb of sleep.

Look not on that world of made,
for as cousin Ed said plainly,
“It ain’t a world of born.”

There are diamonds in the dirt
that sparkle when you water it.

I really hope you don’t miss it.
I really do.