Noel Beitler

The new grass stands
upon a podium of dirt,
promising Earth her spring.
Listen, and you will hear
everything promising something:
The planets their fidelity
To Sun, Moon her loyal tending
of the tides.
Listen, and on a still night
you will hear your own breath
make a shy but certain promise to Life;
listen well, and Life will
promise herself to you
like an eager bride.