Among the jumbled rocks along the stream, wonders collide in whispers softly sung, echoes running behind in the rustle, where small hands dart through blades of grass.

Emerald fronds, dripping golden light, breathe along the lake’s edge, the morning reinvents itself with a chorus.

We stand there, watching, together,
each moment spiraled within the prism of air, rearranging colors until the butterfly wears the prose around its wings.

May sound trickle in the distance, holding its water close, for the luminous grows into words, shaping the walls of dreams inside.

• Muriel Rukeyser