What is more beautiful than the fire pit,
rain rusted, turned on its side in the snow?
It is the only earth tone visible for miles.
I think back to that moment when the black
snake escaped my shovel, harmlessly sliced
into the garden loam, and I finally saw the difference
between blackness and poisonous. Or when
I see the men with their shotguns and realize why
the rabbits avoid us. I holler – run rabbit run –
to the angry men with their guns I say “Isn’t it
good to be alive?” Or when
the telescope came in the mail and the first thing I
looked at was my brother’s eye. It was a blur that
moved when he blinked. I drew a picture of it and
he cried because it looked like something he had
never seen before. As when the paint by number
‘Last Supper’ has some numbers scrambled and
takes on the look of a work of art.