And we all fall short, don’t we?
Of waters dancing at having made
the acquaintance of the sun.
Of the golden loops the bees paint
around basking buds.
Of the graceful howling of the wolf at
his old friend the moon.
Of the permanence of the dust,
ever busy in it’s cycle of recreation.
Of the trees, shedding their coats as
we bundle beneath ours.
Of the way they nourish themselves
and they are not ashamed at having
Of the seasons turning in time.
And the flora growing when it ought,
and being enjoyed when it ought,
and making way for its friends by
saying goodbye when it ought.
Of the ivy ever crawling,
and the willows ever weeping,
and the brooks ever babbling,
and sun scorch,
and moon beam.
And we gasp for air as we realize the
distance we can’t possibly cover
to catch up with it all.
And we breath it in - all of it
- as the earth gains speed.
Germany in early summer
will always mean sweetness for me.
All the green and the walking through rows of buds,
And we too - full of that sweet nectar which gives and makes life -
blooming still, even now.
Never before had I seen something so religious.
Thousands of roses
singing their chorus,
shouting ever upward,
burning the heavens in unison.
And I, running through the rows,
sipping up the sweetness.
“Which of you is sweetest, my lovely ones?”
But, of course, that was among the silliest of my questions
How could you choose?
How could anyone ever choose?
That morning we hiked Cummins Falls,
We found you, all of you -
wings of bright spread to the sky -
wading through air, thick with heat and sweetness.
Did you know the joy you provided us,
as you suckled sweetness from your simple friends, the flowers?
Did they know the joy they provided you
By bursting anew the notes of nectar
in mornings past and future still?
I think you, butterfly free,
and you, sweet flower buds,
you know the network of little joys much deeper than I -
that by doing what only you can do,
nectar sweet and brilliant wings,
you have obeyed.
You have been enjoyed.
And I - poor in knowledge, rich in density -
I know not the joy I bring you, lovely girls,
by snapping my photos,
lifting your sweetness to my nose,
brushing your wings with my breath,
By calling you lovely.