I’ve lost

     the ability

             to walk

     I can’t do

             stairs

          or go

              uphill

            or downhill

     I’ve lost

       my beautiful

penmanship

                  but I can let go

         of things with

              my right hand

    I used to grip

                  so hard

                       the handrail

                  in rehab—

     I’ve relearned

            how to use

                   chopsticks

     I can open

            pill bottles

                    and La Croix cans

     I haven’t lost

                the ability to

         write poetry

                       I made it up

                 and down

                         little mountain

                         cascades

          of birdsong and then

                       silence

        graceful arcs

                   silver spray

               of sprinklers

                   in the far field

        three sandhill cranes

                  flying in unison

     three sandhill cranes

                        dissolved

                     into the mountain

             a skunk plumes

          its luxurious

                   black and white

                         tail

               a deer bounding

            a monarch

                   butterfly

              up close

                  for the first

                              time

                  flashing its wings

            opening and

                               closing

                   its wings

               perched

                   on an elm leaf

                          mesmerizing

                    near the river

                 perched on an elm leaf

                        opening

                           and closing

                    its wings

                        near

                             the river

                  opening

                        and closing