All Right

Above me, a sliver of the moon points the way
For the gray and blue clouds
That move like slugs over the hazy blue sky.
A bird feverishly sings its turgid song,
Its final flourishes before the sun goes down.
The frogs are warming up for the night's tribal chanting,
And here I sit beneath the bare skeleton
Of a sugar maple
Waiting for someone to come along and tell me
That I do indeed have it all right.