Outside at night
admiring the seven stars of the Dipper as it floats over her house
she asks how do you stay together in your constellation and not drift apart, leave each other, find new stars to align with?
The Dipper answers:
Bear sings to crow crow talks to others.
Seeds ride the butterfly’s wings Butterflies flap their wings and worlds collide Stars move around the galaxy but never leave home. There is a sun in everyone’s life – a mooring to oppose the random flight of wild freedom.
Evolving through plankton, amoeba, dinosaurs, bears, lobsters, butterflies, mountains and trees you own their DNA and you know them. Through them you are anchored to earth and through earth to the universe.
There is no family if not these tribes of nomads, these clans of non-relations, an expanding, elaborate lineage of dissimilars that hold the bloodline for all of us.
And you are part of a dynasty and royal house, knotted together by interlacing webs and snarls of lacework, fastened to the destiny of the universe, like the stars of the bear that sail over your house.
When the violets
and Jack in the Pulpit awaken,
ferns unfold their bowed heads
and stand tall in frond wrappings,
trees pause in conversation to attend
to the yellow visions of Dandelions
and to Trout Lilies and May Apples
as they pray for the dead snake on the path.
You may say this is fantasy
caused by too much listening
to the whispers of a greening forest.
But she has come to rouse her sleepy soul –
to rise with spring and warming days
having been summoned by wind, river, stars and stones
to this holy place
to receive a new voice
to learn fresh songs
to birth a new dream for her life
and new hope for this aching world.