If there were ever reason
To traverse meadows of you
Lost among grasses—lush forest
Draped between crags and faces
Among waterwheels turning stones smooth
Split by the wind and sun
Erupting in wildflowers at the edge of the falls

I would not tarry at the sight of a thistle
Purpling the day-lit hours in repose
Waking giants in its quiet way
Staring skyward
Embracing the sun

I would not question the jagged curling pine
Keeping watch over the valley and its allies
Reaching for the ground, lit and blind
Breathing the cool summer winds

If the curling water allowed
The canyon wren to bathe
All things would come together
To behold the workings of spring
The ever-towering glacier and cliff
The eye and wing and the cool water tumbling

Stay put small thistle
Bring the sunset to bear in your leaves
Turn morning around on its head
And carry the night to its summit
Carry your seeds thrown
In chariots of wind
And flower the rushing river
Into the silence of the valley floor
Draped in light