We sit in the middle of a path Near an acacia tree. Under a rush of branches Where the stream pools, A towhee dips its feathers Shuddering water into jewels of light. A squirrel shrills in the scrub oak. She is furious we have come To her throne of leaves. Far off Near the sun.
Bees brush the brilliant clumps And yellow powder Of acacia blossoms.
My limbs spread out, a living, glorious crown. This place is so many tongued. Blackberry vines wander through sage. A strand of web Like our thin filament of love Spins the sunlight And laces it into small rainbows. It's no use to think here.