Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like the wings of a moth in the beak of an owl?
Who has it, and who doesn’t?
I keep looking around me.
The face of a moose is as sad as the face of Jesus.
The swan opens her white wings slowly.
In the fall, the black bear carries leaves into the darkness.
One question leads to another.
Does it have a shape? Like an iceberg?
Like the eye of a hummingbird?
Does it have one lung, like the snake and the scallop?
Why should I have it, and not the anteater who loves her children?
Why should I have it, and not the camel?
Come to think of it, what about the maple trees?
What about the blue iris?
What about the little stones, sitting alone in the moonlight?
What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves?
What about the grass?
*Cloud image taken through the window with my cell phone and the ‘roidizer’ app. *Poem by Mary Oliver.