The ground hog searching the grass
is a brown spark
of divine light.
The branches that shadow him
continue outwards
in abounding grace.

Grubs flicker in soil
his green teeth
take them from
the mercy of the ground
his fur glistens with luck
til rain drives him under the ferns
and trembling bushes.

Thunder mounts the moist sky
an electric sleet
ticks at the windows
like an old machine.