Wendi White

I have no cup to pour,
no incense to burn,
no tobacco to cast
upon stone.

My thanks rise
with a fluttering heart
at the sight of Eagle’s
tail fan over
river dawn.

There is only this—
that my prayer climb
with the sun, that I
make good use
of this day ashore.

Focus
on a single leaf.
It will help. See
how its oval divides
shade from light
luminescence
from gloom?
How the underside
mottled from rain
from sheltering
aphid eggs glued
like grains of rice
on paper reveal
the origins of all
playschool art.

This leaf, a locus
of sun and air
water and earth
lasts a season
to fall at first chill
to come undone
by way of worms
to return its form
to reaching roots,
to climb the pines
bud again
beside the moon.