Place

Inside an open rose
A tree frog
no bigger
than my thumbnail.
I try to imagine
rest like that,
tucked
in such a bed of petals.
I try to imagine
prayer like that,
listening
so intently
in the early light
and
saying so little.

The summer
teeters
now
into old age,
as do I,
those blackberries
that still cling
to their thorny arms
withering,
readying themselves
to trust the earth again,
where,
for a moment
at least,
there is a place for everything.
~Bernardo Taiz