It’s a Sunday, the last one in July
and I am sitting on mown grass
at the edge of the creek, watching
sunlight float on its calm waters
as if it were blessing the day.
And the waters, in turn, bless
the minnows darting in its shallows,
and the roots of the trees on its banks,
and the roots of the grasses and flowers.
And geese plop on their webbed feet
to the water’s edge and slide into it
as if to partake in this grace. And I breathe
the green of it, and my heart whispers
“Summer. Summer. Summer.”