Readers Divine Things

Just to be whole and conscious of the small
In every experience you have, including

Your experience of these phrases, this line,
Alone or aloud—or maybe alone and aloud—

That’s enough for now. Thank you. You
Have made this, you have found this, you

Have read this. Here you are. It’s your being,
Your experience, not the poem’s, although

Now we go together, thoughts intersecting
On a maze of paths, a labyrinth perhaps,

In which case, we can leave together.
Labyrinths are like that. No need for a map.

Will you stay with us a while and find out?
Outside, there is news, in your world

And ours, more triumphs and terrible things.
But in the little thicket of these phrases

You’ll find words for varieties of sweetness,
For these mountains high over the desert,

For western bluebirds, wrens, and finches
Singing their familiar coincidences, tapestry

Of red, purple, white, and yellow wildflowers
Weaving through the seasonal green grass,

Obscuring the prickly pear and dry stalks
That should come into their own again soon,

Above the juniper-piñon, below the aspen,
In the shade of a large ponderosa,

Where the air is still humanly comfortable
And quiet without other humans. You are

A part of this, or this is now a new part of you,
An experience you will likely forget soon

And will inevitably, eventually, take with you.
Thank you for being here, thank you

For taking note of this, of us. A soft breeze
Whispers through. God, how we’ve missed you.