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Into the green-leaf spaciousness of summer,

Into azure-sky, reservoir-cool depths of blue,

Into the sinking of a knee and carving of a ski throughperfect pitch powder,

linked to the sky and the wooden cross on the cinder cone,

drawn by gravity into the trees below.

Letting go.

Into the magenta heart of laughter,

Into the yellow joy of open sunflowers,

Into the rough history of a Steens Mountain thunderegg,

Into red coral birds flying into clear sky,

Into the jeweled smell of mock orange in warm air,

Into the wind that blows lightest of gray before a summer thunderstorm,

Into the rich dense of a thunderhead that promises change,

Into dreams that come, infused through a spritzer of sleep,

Into the beds of white clouds that carry weightlessly,

Into the coming raspberries finally turning pink-then-red on the stem,

Into chilled feet in a shallow pool of hose water,

Into river-washed amethysts dried in the sun,

Into the cold wash of water in the depths of the lake,

Into the largest round moon in the light haze of a summer night,

Into a newborn’s eyes.

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