When the river rises into a flood,

when there is no help for a gay man

walking his dog,

when the ICE vans are full

and children can’t find their parents,

when doctors are unaffordable,

when the entire country is under the fist

of a fascist…
​

Look to the spell of the redwood,

seek out the song of the pine.

​

How long are the live oak’s fingers

as they grip the earth,

while their crown

rockets

through hurricanes?

​

Breathe in the warm rose light

as the evening sighs.

​

There is a gentle sentience,

familiar with the suffering of time.

​

There is a quiet knowing

that balance

will return home,

and once more

broken hearts

will find rest.