Credit/ Robert Hass

 

            The spirits stand round

   in their bristly ovals. They don’t

really know what to do. A bobcat

            hunts on the oblong

hill, its tan hunger ruffling

   the saturn grasses.  A day

   brings velvet fog to the warm

    ground. The wren with the n

       at the edge of its nest

         makes all sounds eat

from earth while lost things turn

   & circulate. Stuck

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