I turn off the news, zero
in on the scent of honeysuckle
at dawn, the late afternoon
tap of woodpecker. Frog music
as fireflies flare. The day
opens & closes in patterns
& layers like my grandmother’s
lace folding fan. Relaxed, I forget
about the news, reverberations
of trauma rest like brumating
snakes under snow

& soil. God is strange
but not malicious. That’s
what Einstein said & my husband
reminds me that there are more galaxies
in the universe than there are grains
of sand on earth – 10 sextillion
stars, 5 sextillion speckles
of sand. I don’t need shrines
or temples. No prayer
wheels or relics. As it tumbles
over wheat, wave
& summit, wind
is my god, my inexplicable