H: I look up from the bottom of the ocean
Watching birds like a burst of dandelion seeds in motion
A: The wind, the unfallen, the circling tide,
The depths, the growth, the current's potion.
H: Drawing patterns in the pink and orange cirrus,
That fading phosphorus rim of their silent compass.
A: The anchor, the edge, the rinding sky,
The sun, a liminal, a cataract eye.
H: What do they know of bones that in roots lie curled
When trees bend to their flight toward the burning edge of the world?
A: To climb the grain, the ribs of Heaven
Ignite the leaf to bear surface, even.
H: And what songs might they learn on that ladder of stars
With the sun fixed like a jewel set in a guitar?
A: No more than stream run dark in shade
The verse of water: forest's cave.
H: And you the stranger may not see the lines
That the hunter has traced a thousand times.
A: Deeper still to fern and wave,
The heaven's brilliance and the depths of space.