|Spring & Summer, by Angelyn Taylor|
They line the window sill, this mast
tradition is a ritual in nature's mass
You follow spring's unfurling roots
Where the acorns bask in the soft morning.
This is the place where lightening
has been made to feel unwelcome-
A god can rest beneath your canopy-
A quickening, you pray palms raised.
This ocean is in bloom
It rocks against the humid
tide and pulls the mosquitos,
The june bug's awkward hum,
The cicada burrows as pin-
pricks at the oak tree's base.
Indian paintbrush sways
with the tide, in bloom and
wild geraniums fan their hands
in the wind's floatsum-
We have reached this ocean
to compromise with God.