by Maura Atwood
too many poems have been written about you
but I’d like to say –
that flash of wings you have
(that sudden silver fire in the singing sun)
and the way you teach the trees to wink
and your swooping (sighing) darting body
that is all heart
and your unconscious children’s song of dry leaves in the green rain
well, you are the one who lets us know that the woods are alive.