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