Origami Night

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Near tidal river rimmed with salt
earthworms move the earth grain by grain.
We are the last standing to fold scraps
of paper into shapes of toads and cranes,
miniatures of the mighty oak -- all gone.
We swear to keep safe what remains,
to care for grass and tree, for water and air,
for all that walks and flies.

These are gnarled days.
Time lapse photography doesn’t help.
Laughter is a rare meal, crimped and folded.
Locusts of the planetary past blanket the sky
while all night rites of salt and thirst
peel the east like a vowel
until the egg yolk queen spills
her tincture of light.