Beginner's Eyes
I am trying to learn the crow again,
to receive the morning the way a child receives it —
without the name of the thing getting in the way of the thing.
The creek does not know it is a creek.
It is only the cold and the moving and the light
doing what the light does when it finds water.
I want to lie in the grass and forget the calendar,
to let the sky be simply enormous overhead,
to find the beetle remarkable because it is.
This is the practice the years untaught me.
I am a slow student of the obvious —
learning again that the world was always this full.
artwork and poetry ©Stacy Stephens