Generous drape of

clouds, ample reach of a tree

where the iris blooms

 

Never still
Young wind leafing through
Purple petals

Beneath old stories
of time-worn firs, delicate
arcs of springtime

Bright spring sun, the old
tree holding soil holding these
tulips holding me

 

in their one whole voice
the flowers are speaking,
learning the land

 

 

Soccer practice, no
one watching but cherry trees,
their arms filled with stars

 

 

our lives, 
waves written like a poem 
on white water

 

 

Around the mountain
Spring light pours down
White, green, and blue

 

on a thin green limb
perched between songs
and silence

 

from the curving trail
a meadowlark sings
and I reach the clouds