While Walking
Look for me on beaches
where I've walked
to hear the surf wash
even memory glossy,
where my lungs
breathe mist from swells
above the undertow, and any ache
with the tide subsides.
Look for me in the mountains,
where the blue is higher, a person taller
next to lodgepole pine
than on any plain;
where glacial lakes receive
the silence of the peaks,
and mouths of fish
mime ovations at the sky.
Look for me at my desk
in eastern light, or
against the paper birch draping low
around my pad and pencil.
Or try south rooms when the moon is white
and shadow-leaves on walls
are ripples of water.
Look for me at storefront galleries on the way,
or in libraries, where I don't mind
I'm smaller. Or at the river, or
under trees in rain.
Look for me.