In peat

To lie here, quietly
in peat, under
the trees, to hear
the herons feed their
young from their crop,
the watering of waters in
the reeds, freed from aches
and sorrow, lust and load,
as the summerwind laughs
out loud up and above.

To lie here and to know
all is well, familiar feeling
this, in the land of moist air
and wood, to lie dressed
in a wedding gown the
silk moth made you as in
olden days, there you go
again, we spell out your
name, we know were
you are and what you do.

For you are here doing nothing.
That’s just fine.