(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