Negative Capability

The honeysuckle vines are certain

They’ll be here tomorrow morning,

Unhushed scent reaching into next month,

As I rest the scythe against a stump

To sharpen the curved blade.

Their green surety. My uncertainty:

That pain in the chest could return

In the middle of this job, a ferryman

Singing One more river to cross.

A miracle defines itself. I love

What doesn’t reveal every seam,

Every droplet—when doubt owns tongue

& clitoris, heart & penis. I love

Mystery, & hope I never touch naked

Threads of reason to answer the slimy,

Clueless snout probing the dark.