Above, where robins strive endlessly to bring forth life––
their wings only to rest when beaks are full and at the nest
To build, to weave, delicately a cottage made of sticks
To nourish beaks that beg with chirping cries for sustenance
Below, where marigolds struggle against the soil to erupt
triumphant from the dormant underneath
To argue with the sun, beckon the rain for water to drink:
the means of blooming
In the middle, in between the heavens and the earth
where you stand, feet covered in decaying dirt.
Hand yourself the grace offered to those
who ask and shall receive
Don’t you see? All of everything
wrestles unceasingly against death
But life is held out like a promise
Look everywhere, and take it