Living without money would be good.
Swap yellow poppies for the miracle
of frost and stars, offer work
for the sweet joining of the sea and sky.
Pay with cold fingers in the winter dark
for June’s small strawberries on a warm palm.
Welcome the bonus heron,
very still beside the burn.
No dollar-zeros in long lines
can change the bulk of milk in the blue jug
or ease the time before the light bulb goes.
Imagined money must remain a dream.
Sow climbing beans
when the moon rides high above the hill.
Easing is easy when you cease to try.