The Vine Maple

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Here we are,
my head rocked back,
your hands
gently unfolded,
soft and creped, and
lit by the sun
like paper lanterns.

Here we are,
combing spider webs
from our hair,
like strings of silt,
like the baleen of whales.

Here we are,
watching the osprey drift,
wings rocking
like the mast of a ship,
our own feet sweetly stuck here,
bathed in earth, in moss, in these, our roots.

Here we are,
you and I,
watching the same sky
turn inward and inward,
a song we never tire of,
you and I, you and I, you and I.