What magic will befall us today?

I'll take the kind that radiates,
weightlessly, from the sun, or
drops as rain, swollen sky bits.

I'm here for the kind that makes
provision for the goldfinch and
clothes Queen Anne in lace out
in the pasture, the kind, indeed,

that clothes the pasture itself,
weaving radiance, rain, and the
castings of hosts of soil makers,
who dwell unseen, underfoot,

into yarrow, bluestem, timothy,
goldenrod, and orchard grass –
the kind, indeed, that feeds even
as it swathes, a compound magic.