Be still now with the Earth. Still with the Sun, the Land, Sea

Good to mark it each year on the world’s calendar. But I celebrate it every day.

The keys to the house, or car. The address of a restaurant. The grocery list. The name of a tree or bird or passing acquaintance.

Yes. And the rivers. The wind and the rain. The wildflowers. The marshes

Quite a sight to behold: a woman of sun, reclining on the grass, in a meadow, abundantly recumbent, hair and limbs lush with heat

Circa ‘50s Wichita. Your mother, Gladys, going for her blue rinse,

The only thing warm tonight in the deep winter sky ~ and soon to occlude. The Wolf Moon, Ice Moon, Old Moon.

How deeply are you living, friend? How sense-deep. How heart, and

You, Picasso aigu in your summer straw shading blue eyes and sailor stripes, juggling a bubble of cold wine.

Between the keys. Between the chords. Between the notes. Between the sound you make

Fog pours in through the half-open windows. Fills our small bedroom by the bay. Pools

I’m glad for mine. The long, aquiline form of it. The way it has shaped, informed my face;

However tender, and moist. The golden skin, supremely crisp. The stuffing,