From my window I see the sky
through the firs’ sparse boughs,
the birch’s branches bare.
The ninja silhouette of a squirrel
scampers across. The mountains
have snow on them.
In the woods across the river
there’s a man stabbing a corpse.
I do not call the cops.
He’s taking the elk home
to freeze for the winter.
Ducks paddle upstream, in a row.
Always upstream,
always in a row.
No one takes a straight edge to their line.
I’ve never known a nun to smack
the wrist of an eagle
for missing its supper.
God does not need us to scold
one another. Our
fingers can point at many things
but the Indians used to point the way
with their lips.
A nod and a kiss
to the direction they wished
to go.
God was once, only
once perfect,
but that was long before rulers.
Now God learns perfection through us.
I tell you,
we’d do well
to learn it through ducks.
