Inviting Presence

Like water
that becomes a rope
or snake
when you close your hand around
the stream pouring from the end
of a running hose;

like air that furs itself
and shoves its nose
into your palm
when you hold your hand
upright out of the window
of a moving car;

like grass biting
your legs and arms
as you roll upon it,
leaving you stung and itching
for hours —

some things,
once invisible or seemingly
innocuous, come to life
and push back upon you
when you surrender your usual
inattention
and bring them close.

When you let them live,
they live — not entirely
like pets, not entirely
wild:

reminders of how once
we all danced in anticipation
before barely tamed fires
and expected the entire cosmos
to present itself
and begin speaking.