the flowers in it sweet among the rivers.
Earth spoke with joy in the throats of birds,
its rhythm as long as rainfall in the night.
We named the switch-grass; we followed
the mule deer over the mountain’s stone
while warmth out of the ocean carried
the shore-waters’ mist before it
and summer storms echoed northwards
till mockingbird and jay sang again at twilight.
© BH, 2022
More about the winds…
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