Given the rarity of sun
we can forgive its low

insistent exuberance
flooding our eyes

from all directions
the woodpeckers chatter

each call a rapid succession
of questions and answers

at the edge of this forest
almost everything is soft

a maze of damp boughs
and spongey loam

sunbeams that pool
honey on the moss

the fur of the coyote
laid out by the ditch

its legs outreached
and stiff as branches