How does one put words together in

the shape of a white pine newly

freshed by morning snow?


How does one bead a bracelet

made of elk trumpets and

the flight lines of red-tailed hawks?


How does one eat a bowl of

sunbaked scree with a

granite spoon?


How does one market the sky

when it purples for a single

translucent moment from the far off fire of the sun?


How does one thank the

swallow who flew with

the piece of soul thrown

up like a prayer from

the rocky point of it all?


You, sinewy, non-chalant virgin, taught us well

 in these wild arts. 


What you brought into being---meshugge grace.


May you be soaked in the sweet sustenance upon which all beautiful words float and be held with the same feathered arms with which you held us.  Then you will know something of the gift you gave.