To the Bluff
In the spring, there is more shade
to drop your head into, to linger and wait.
We praised the sun, rising out of winter
like the birth of a child.
Expanding like muscle, trees lull stems into widening
and the darkness beneath thickens.
The fragrance of a meadow makes your eyes clean
in the shade, turning by the wind.
To the bluff of drop and above,
the waves creasing over its finality,
almost reaching, almost reaching.