The Gift
I am the bee who clings with dew-
tipped legs to the soft crowns of purple
clover, the stupid happiness inside
the blasted bud, an entanglement of clouds
smitten with love-stricken light that is
here, there, everywhere. Sun’s gold load,
the dance inside the perfectly still great
blue heron and the prostration of rain-
battered grasses. I am the spiritual essence
caught in sails peached by twilight,
the candles on the green plates of lily pads,
the hummingbird winging through summer
and the drop of syrup she labors for
is what marries her to the ecstatic motions
of divine revelation. Shabby sheik sheep
slowly munching on bunch grass, the sea’s
gorgeous, gutsy waves and the firefly dying
to be born inside the hieroglyphs of fireworks.
I am the gift the giver gave me and you are the gift
the giver gave you and we are broken,
broken like thunderbolts in such massive
glory, God breaks down and sweetly weeps
till peace steals over the heaven crying
inside the swan song we call a lifetime.
~~from Elizabeth to you
on her 54th birthday