Because there was fluttering when you expected
floodwater, a guardian angel with her hand on your hip
   while you spun anxiety satellites in your mind until
   the universe went full tilt, planets pinballing.

The secret is the world loves you—how you smile
at sticky children, hold the door open for people
    you've never met. Some days it’s almost too easy to be
    helpful, to make a million friends because

you don't spray pesticides across your lawn
—the grasshoppers and cocoons thank you. We're hanging
    in there, knowing love is love is love and also temporary,
    like us. And while you sometimes worry, wear highwater

jeans, you aim to unwind with hibiscus, hollyhocks,
anything to give you a little buzz. Remind how you adore
   honeybees, alive and humming in sync with the cliffswallows
   who returned with the pair of goldeneyes floating across

the lake—they're still together another year, seasonal
monogamy. Like all of us that summer when everything
    fluttered. All those lifetimes, the monarchs landed
    in your hair.