Know if lives in nature’s song—
thick on spring’s rustle
between every breath that comes
verdant and sublime, there was
a moon-rose, eggshell fragile—
but ask, ask, ask, she says–
a dance on a long bee-path,
soft blooms of dusk,
like a lullaby as night’s blanket rests.
Watch, as frost-lichens bloom,
and then color, stone to berry-warm
reflections in ancient rivers–
a murmur, a laugh,
the embrace of sky,
rippling secrets, there and gone.
The Oracle really wanted me to ask today. Every set I looked at gave me that word. Then these lines came, and the poem fell into place.