Sun in the Window

The big, simple table made of wide planks
Shoved up under the log cabin's window
With its view of birches and mountainside,

The gush and rumble of the dishwasher,
An odd and welcome machine in the woods,
Where melted snow pipes streams "straight off the hill,"

The grim thrum of the refrigerator,
Enduring Sisyphean punishment
As an engine flouting the Second Law,

The muffled groans of the trees in the wind,
The claw-like gouges of snow on steep slopes
Where seedlings lose their purchase each winter,

These semi-random amalgamations
Of all five intersecting dimensions,
Light, depth, breadth, time, and lyric poetry,

These joint breaths drawn, felt, absorbed through the pores
Of trees, insects, beasts, and machines in spring,
Conspire and tremble to divide the sun.