Choices - James Crews

 You can grieve the leaves stripped

from the maple, all that empty

space between the bare branches,

or you can bless the abundance

of light shining through, buffing

the pine boards of the floor until

they turn the color of clover honey.

You can mourn the coneflowers

now shriveled and brown, say

the whole world's going to ruin,

or you can stand at the window

watching the lively yellow blossom

of a goldfinch feasting on each

crown of seeds, sending more than

a few back home, down into

the open ground, which knows

how to receive them.