(after Marisol Baca)
Lend me your ear so that I may speak to you of trees
lapping at the edges of streams, of clouds forming
among eddies, of ocean surging skyward.
Some of us find ourselves
browsing headlines, seeking some key
to lock away the darkness of this time.
Some of us seek patterns in the flood
of words, like cloud formations drifting
together, drifting apart. We seek endlessly.
Some of us curl toes into wet sand,
kneel at the edge of waves,
lap from cupped hands the salt and water,
eyes fixed on some horizon
point where ocean mingles with sky.
--Bonita H., Adult