I bow down to swallows crackling on telephone wires
I bow down to windows propped up by a stick
I bow down to paying attention to the fine print
I bow down to the underbellies of pillows
I bow down to the dance of golden wasps
I bow down to trying not to discuss the faults of others
I bow down to St. Francis begging for stones for a church
I bow down to the Lapus Lazuli Healing Buddha
I bow down to the Eight Noble Truths
I bow down to the red fox walking through the flames of itself
I bow down to the adandoned blue trailer of the sky
I bow down to garments worn inside out
I bow down to the mycologist's only mistake
I bow down to the applause of wings
I bow down to the seasons of vineyards, to uncorking the wine
I bow down to the ricochets of dreams
I bow down to dying quietly in your sleep
I bow down to Martha the last passenger pigeon
I bow down to road kills and their kin
I bow down to places where no one knows you
I bow down to the altars of the Rockies
I bow down to the holy waters of tears shed for loved ones
I bow down to great bones
I bow down to scuffed floors
I bow down to the storms on Jupiter
I bow down to the long fuses of nerves
I bow down to stays of execution
I bow down to work for joy, not for green
I bow down to the past pressed by geologic rock
I bow down to Eolithic minds
I bow down to the fossils of the future
I bow down to Rumi and Basho
I bow down to ruins on Mars
I bow down to firefly festivals in Japan
I bow down to a butterfly dreaming it's a human
I bow down to weight scales suddenly going zero
I bow down to dove ethnology
I bow down to raptures and revelations
I bow down to glitter and lode
I bow down to crawling under barbed wire
I bow down to deer herds huddled under rivers of shade
I bow down to John Muir, Edward Abbey, Loren Eiseley, Terry Tempest Williams
I bow down to the wizard in the heart
I bow down to squinting with imagination's eyes
I bow down to sliding down glaciers
I bow down to blood preserving salt
I bow down to gnomic excursions of speech