Please, Believe Me, Ms. Weber, I Do Care about Details

True, I have twice faxed my resume,

dear Ms. Weber. I did not have the dates 

precisely right. I hope this tiny error

will not matter, for I do understand the importance of detail.

I know the exact angle of a sweet pea's juncture 

on the vine. I know the delicate tiptoe of a nuthutch

as she treads headfirst down the maple bough.

I know the elongated triangle of a resting heron's leg,

and the wide broad arc of the great snowy owl

as he grabs his prey. I know that perfect moment

every autumn when the sumac's flame burns 

against the northern sky, and I know the size

of every seed, the inkjet dot of Busy Lizzie,

the pearly bead of marvel of Peru,

and the eloquent exclamation point of the iris pod.

I know the music of the blue jay's bicker at five in the morning,

and the rustle of the towhee in the brown leaves below the window

in the afternoon. And, do you know, Ms. Weber,

the difference between hyssop and hibiscus, coreopsis

and cosmos, calliopsis and calendula, amaryllis and anemone?

I can calculate the flutter of a bee from borage to clary sage

and borage back again. I know the utter mathematical perfection

in the marriage of bud and thorn and trellis and climbing rose.

It is quite true, Ms. Weber, that I might file

one boring piece of paper carelessly beside the next,

and have to search around a bit, or that my cubicle

might seem dusty and a mess, but, oh, Ms. Weber,

I do care about details.