Poem in Which Gratitude Has Wings
You can’t stop exclaiming about the canvas
of forest — A mosaic of madronas! you shout
as we walk down a trail we’ve walked down
calendars ago. And the cattails!
Your voice like a child whose been
introduced to feathers, to flight —
the red-winged blackbirds holding
a conversation of marshlands.
I hold your hand though you don’t
know how sadness is landscape
whose roots go deep into my lungs,
an argument from several days ago blooms,
but how can I linger there? You are braiding
starlight with birdsong saying,
Lie down with me in this meadow.
Saying, One day these grasslands will be gone
and I know the distress of the goldenbush
but what I say is, But right now, how lucky
we are, how lucky we are.
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