Spray Park, Passing Waves, Alfred and Me at the Arboretum

Prayer from an Avalanche Lily

After July,
after the initial thrill
of snowmelt --
how it tingled

after days spent in shyness,
hands clasped beneath our backs,
heads down, eyes staring at our shoes --
we were humble because we were grateful

after unimaginable sunshine
and parading banners of mist,
after the wind came
and lifted spirits and faces,

howling, and sometimes whistling:
you did not come here to stand idle,
you came here to dance,
you came here to wave and to pray

after like streamers we let our petals go,
and after the tiredest of us,
weary and slumped,

let the wind, like a mother, carry us down,
and after the meadow buried us,

our dried crimson hearts stood tall,
proud to carry the seeds
for a life we will gladly accept again.

Premonition

I crawl into the last corner
of hot light
like I am a thirsty bear.
Soft glimmers of it
travel on waves
through the windswept cove
and are deposited
on the grassy shore
where the goslings
hatch and play
all summer long.
They nudge me, these sparkles,
as they pass,
and I roll
into their touch
like I am their deserving cub.
I want only more of what is good for me.
Aren't I soft,
and won't I become
a reckoning force
one day?
The earth cannot deny me
what I need -- nurturance,
light, water, a mother ...