This Is Just to Add

He asked: "Why do poets always
write about the minutiae of nature?"
I said: "Because that's the job." Of course,
poets also write about war, love, death, sex, gods—
that is to say, clocks, fudge, polyester,
defibrillators, and spray paint.
But the job is to make
us notice what is around us
yet does not revolve around us.
This job is never done,
and that’s why I must tell you
about the young weasel I watched at sunrise,
perched in my plum tree like a sleek black cat,
who shook dry, mealy plums to the weedy ground
and sprang from the branch to eat.

published in Turtle Island Quarterly