All across these mountain ranges, streaking madly
from a whirling vortex of sky and sea, great winds
blow up and everything breaks into ecstatic praise —
all flying things, flimsy leafy fronds, tall falling firs,
torn flags pointing the way for two willing children
gazing ever skyward from their bedroom window,
a rising sensation in their heart, an astonishment
that there is anything at all, that they are present,
sharing in such wonder, not even any word for it.
To hear their heart they become that heart,
it is blowing up, and everything is so lost
in some ecstatic praise that they realize
there is no other way, then they laugh
and utterly lose themselves in this.
The whole world loses itself
forever in that embrace.
This is what the real God
wanted — only this.
Amidst the windy reckoning
every tree is praising too.