Now is the time

You

and I

have been dry

seeds rattling

for so long.

Do seeds

cease

to be

when the

fruit ripens?

Do not

forget what is

always. Although

hidden in the

dark cool center

a new livingness

waits to be

broken—Open

a stone's frugal life

I ogle stones
in a bed of sand
through the veil of a clear lake

*

one speckled stone catches my eye .

my hand reaches

through distortions
for its heart

*

one stone heart

in my palm

turns my hand to sand

*

it is thus
the hammer beats us
back together

*

in the night
I hear the strokes
in my blood

sand water sand water sand

With every breath

I stand perfect, arrogant with life

in this field, refusing to choose which

is more, the golden hills of rudbeckia

tumbling after one another,

Canada thistle foaming around

spindles of Timothy grass. Not even

doilies of Queen Anne’s Lace,

a neck above the rest, court my favor,

nor I theirs.

We are all winners

or there are none. Bee. Moth.

Hawk. Vole. Sky over. Sun falling. We

proudly pose until the next rising.