june litany

you are not the sun-gilded clouds

or the thunderstorm sailing across the sky

the sudden crack of lightning

or the gentle grumble of thunder.

you are not the honeysuckle-scented air

or the thrasher caroling merrily in the sprucetops

or even the cottonwood with leaves surprisingly still.

neither are you the swarm of midges encircling my head

the sparrows arguing in the gutter

or the rabbit tauntingly nibbling clover beyond the garden gate.

even still, you are not the chipmunk in silhouette on the woodpile

the raindrops freckling sun-warmed earth

the robin pulling an after-dinner worm

or the silent bats wheeling in the gloaming.

you are neither the blush on the apricots

nor the thorn on the rose

but are not quite the iris glowing palely in the dark.

perhaps, in fact, you are the crescent moon smiling beyond the edge of the rooftop

or perhaps ā€” and even more remote ā€” the faint stars glimmering on the horizon.