BACK TO THE EDGES OF ODDNESS
Since midsummer, fairies with green wings
twinkle around my eyes all night long.
They beg me to be invisible,
offer me fernseed and a cap woven
of milkweed and thistle fluff.
The dog is restless when they are in the house,
and my husband can’t sleep,
and I can’t explain. The cats
don’t seem to mind.
Whatever shall we do with realism,
reason, logic, the sciences that deny
the way things are? A cloud of demons,
their sharp laughter, the steadfast angels
raising their lavender shields.
Every tree has a soul; early in the morning
you can hear them singing to the sun.
Their music wakes the birds.
Angels are stars, balls of flaming gas.
Everything is real, but more or less
than anyone can imagine.
God is everything.
Nothing is mutually exclusive.