I would have missed the wisteria,
vining purple proof of the mystical,
but Mary said to pay attention.

I saw the cherry blossoms, the henbit,
the ground gone violet. I pictured her,
bare feet on a carpet of soft moss:

My work is loving the world.
Where she saw dogfish, I saw the hooks
in their shark smiles, the rings of plastic

that will outlive us all. I confess that I searched
for the easier world. Still, I kept my eyes
on the trees. How many seasons did I fail

to look? To smell the phlox, sweet like
honeysuckle? The red-tailed hawk was here
even in my oblivion, and each spring,

the baby geese. Look at them, how
they cannot answer for this world.
How they do not care to try.