Whirlwinds spin In the laughter of orchards, Fruit ripens in the harmony Of sunlight’s gentle probe. The earth sighs mortal breath, Round and robed by the cloak of time— I reside in the whisper of petals As fireflies drape their lumens, Whirling around laughter and sighs, Oh how the tender moss grows, Among the ancients it sings of life, And a lilting swell takes us beyond The essence of what we hope to know— In nature’s cradle, we shall.

• Mina Loy