an inchworm paces inwardly convinced
that rise should follow fall thrust follow
gathering a sapling without branches
under-tended and feared dead bursts
from the apex like a satisfied fern
suddenly hundreds of low little lilies
violet twice and white some already
stepped upon flax dams dissolve
our fen drains clear bedrock beneath it
like brown eyes it was us
we were digging under the ordinary
beauty often musters that could be set back
generations by the compact blat
of a heedless heel tread now dry
as a biscuit we feel like dancing
toss our grievances in a common fire
light enters old quarters we settle
into our own foundations like rice
in a jar making space for more of itself
a stoic breeze-nudged bird absorbs
the afternoon with a stillness comprised
of micro-adjustments where her
perceptions intersect with mine
a sweetness might be presence
becomes possible no matter where
we’d gone no matter how long
we’d stayed away

Nathaniel Calhoun works on biodiversity and board governance. His projects focus mostly on the Amazon basin or Aotearoa New Zealand. His poems have featured or will soon feature in The London Magazine, The Iowa Review, Oxford Poetry, DIAGRAM, and many others. He sometimes Tweets: @calhounpoems.

when fever breaks