There was this time praising trees,
this time drinking lemonade and praising
the junipers at the canyon’s rim,
our legs dangling in the emptiness,
one small cloud floating above
the emptiness, when we stopped
speaking of them, like they couldn’t hear,
like they were not there, and spoke directly
to them. You are wonderful, we said.
You are the best. This world would be
a sorry place without you. And then
we turned our attention to the one
small cloud. And then we turned
our attention to the canyon’s rock.
And then we turned our attention,
our voices, our praise, our loving gaze,
to the emptiness itself, and clinking
glass on glass, to the last of the lemonade.
