giving ground

we surprised each other, far in leaf-locked woods,

layered tree tops tent-poling a pale cloud roof

in mizzle-tingling new made air, as birdsong

stitched us together in stillness, till the  hedgehog's curve

unpaused - my tree impression given benefit of the doubt -

to head off, carefully placing one paw at a time,

as if concentrating on each cool tickle of tall grass tines

poking through a fleecy moss, as well as relishing

catch of smells with twitches of black, shiny nose 

in always-hunt for brown, sleeking muscles of a slug

and I walked on my path unwinding, thought : those

who build ships to go into space feel more alien to me

than birds must, to hedgehogs - no matter what we do, this

planet holds better hope for life than all others that we know.

Why reject our unique, miraculous Earth - because it's free?

What's heroic about not paying taxes so you can burn

resources, instead of helping feed people, cure pandemics

stop exctinctions, wars, despair? These modern king Midases

choose a glittering infinity, unbreathable, undrinkable,  fame,

while elf-elegant rowans shed white petals as if largesse of stars

on dark soil and swirls of willow-down waft, collect in drifts,

so under foot's a Milky Way, but warm, soft and full

of promises for growth; huge rhododendrons flower

like constellations of glowing purple globes, and all around

Green aspires, competing, sharing, giving breath, making 

me believe all mistakes can be forgiven, if there are woods