by Leslie Scoopmire
The way the air holds warmth
like a brimming teacup, tenderly
lifting the turkey vultures so high
their grace is all you see, as they trace
lazy lemniscates
forever,
forever,
forever,
balancing on a thermal delicately,
black-winged angels gravely waltzing
atop the head of a pin
The way the painted sunflower bows
her head under the weight of the bumblebee
and the tickseed heads bristle with hyphenated seeds
that will scatter their blessings over
the living earth
and prepare a table before the goldfinch
in the presence of those who treasure her
The way September’s grasshopper
rasps his way from ditches to gravel roads
his battered wings extolling his travels even as
newborn monarchs iron their wings
under a radiant, dog-summer sun
and shadows with edges like knives
The way the redbud leaves dance–
a line in the canopy shifting green to citrine
affirming the beauty of repair, healing, and resilience
like a vein of gold repairing a broken pot
made more beautiful
for the continued life it offers
is the way prayer rises and falls
