August In the Pediatric Wing

This morning I awake
to brother August pouring his clarity
into every empty and full bowl

until we are overflowing
with tawny love,
to pour into the open eyes
that our open eyes meet

everywhere
the mournful eye of the cow
the roving eye of the sunflower
the moon's eye, ever widening,
then disappearing


a little tiger sun
that you held in the palm of your hand
and threw into the air
like sun petals

caught by the boy
in the wheelchair
who circles that sun
until he becomes a planet

for me to orbit
his brilliant smile
defying gravity
of his unending stillness

did he think
for a moment
that recovery
would not also be discovery

or that the bee's pollen
doesn't bless us all
as she bows
at the alter of the flower


finally to rise
dusting each of us
in her purposeful flight

her legs are heavy
with bundles
of golden promise


for DC, who remains clear