The Perks of Not Standing Up

          My daughter disdains the upright position,
Her muscular eyes thumb the clapping bells of
foxgloves blowing,
          She crawls past, creasing aprons of soil.

          Little jack rabbit, pocket mouse, star-nosed mole,
Find me somewhere in plastic manmade tunnels,
Show me a domed chalice of collected stars,
          In the comet tails of carpet hairs.

          Show me galaxies of mud,
Whose flexing soil biceps carry carpenter ant carpets,
Branches like giant ladles,
          Stirring pollen stew.