To the Bluff

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.