i watch as a small yet keen bird attacks a cicada
pulsating, screaming like the prey of birds it is

before that, a spider of the wolf-kind
bared calamitous canines, pounced
upon its buzzing daily portion

i’ve seen ravenous eastern cottontails glean
sparkling cherry red tomatoes from mother’s garden
like levitical law supposes
    (though they reap before she can)

i sit on my rickety wood deck at night
to ponder the faith of an elder tulip tree
its branches raised to Above, the way
only a most devout creature can

if they never doubted, why should i?