Love Poem Where Nature is Non-Binary and Uses They/Them Pronouns

Because there is a man who likes to trample over 
what’s blooming, he thinks nature is a woman. Mother. 
Something to serve him—tomatoes or a bucket 
of apples, something to build his parking lot on, 
something to cut down.

But look at the fig tree sturdy and in cahoots 
with the mosquitos to make sweetness. 
Look at the river where the sky wades in, 
the pink petals resting the rocks.

Daffodils, snowberries, lavender, blackberries—
they stitch together a blossoming flag, a quiet resistance.

Once in the deep of a forest, a friend asked, 
Who decided straight was more “natural”—
it seems more natural to bend, overflow, expand? 

Spotted hyenas, chimera butterflies, clownfish,
Australian cuttlefish, the marsh harrier.

They are the lush of the evergreens, lavender’s
indistinct rows, doubling weed, and the cluster 
of daisies sprouting from the cement.

They are the strength of the snail, softness of the wolf’s 
tongue. The magnificence of the mosaic!, my friend said
as she held my hand, both of us watching the sunset 
collapse. Look at the ocean, the otters on the beach 
and tell me now—What’s not to love?

The beauty of being more. The beauty 
of being multitudes.