Two Squirrels

Twice upon one time, there were two squirrels in the same wood, one of them in perpetual harvesting motion, wise and industrious, gleaning seeds and bugs and litter and nuts, while the other did not, enjoying instead the one season of good weather. Each of them indulged his situation, the one in fretful, even desperate endeavor, busy-busy to-and-fro-ing, the other in timely and sensible pleasure. (You think you know where this is going?”)

            

What a heaped-up harvest the good squirrel made, while the prodigal lay back on piney boughs in the shade of upper branches for noon nap breaks from his escapades. There were moments when the stirring one, worn to a frazzle, envied the other but could not condone either the laziness or fits of razzle dazzle. He collected mushrooms and dried them neatly on covert twigs, then stored them out of reach. The profligate ate a fading peach, not feeling the need of conscientious greed. He scampered and played all over the place, especially on one high tension cable, running back and forth in a daring race to improve his speeds (how his cousin yearned to follow his lead!) going faster and faster just to be able to better the records that he had made.

            

As Unbelievable As

No, I'm not talking
about walking,
though standing or moving upright
is a wonderment. Breathing, then? Yes,
another marvel – intricate, ingenious,
no question. But to have lived and seen,
what in all of life, save love, surpasses sight?
To have had no other joy
would justify each history.
Radiant light! And prism'd light–
colors, my god the colors and shades
and shapes and objects, one face...
none of it, none of it could have been
imagined when all is said
and done.
Ah then, that done:
to be gone,
to have seen it all
and, then, not to see a-tall?
To lose the splendor of that vault above
or, down to earth, anyplace,
the corner of a familiar shore,
some grass, a hill, a cove,
or the view
of you
walking toward me or standing just so, before,
gently breathing, luminous, stark
but then – like him the reader now hiding over there,
and her also afraid
and me too here,
all together, about to fade
into the redundant dark?
and cease,
and vision cease,
and then, just there, that tree?
To have had astonishment so brief.
Death is as unbelievable as life.