you spread grass for
clover slow like parting
a lover your fingers
shorter than I thought
hold flowering tops
point at eagles, cleavers

yellow-striped necks slip
their shells off logs
ripple duckweed, water lilies

my boiled hands point you
to spiderwebs thick with pollen
blown down from cottonwood
the webs move like dress hems
when the lake breathes out

the first thimbleberry
of summer collapses
on your palm and you
speak to me soft as its
stem and downed leaves

across the inlet

can you hear hawks
call from branches
full of crows