On a thick spit of land
where two swift rivers join,
someone’s painted car hoods
with quotes from
Genesis,
the Song, and
Revelation; 
left them standing here 
where they can speak to the foxes,
eagles, and deer,
and perhaps also
to the occasional person 
walking there as a guest
upon the land.

A liquid song over my head
in the highest reach of the pines,
one I’ve never heard…and before me
a tale of the fruit of the Tree,
a mention of an Apple,
a warning of seven seals broken.

What is that calling above me?
It’s not the God of these Scriptures, is
less dire, more urgent.
I am trying, I am trying,
I will get this…first light,
overhead Song,
bubble-chatter
of two rivers joining,
old words rusting…
ah!
I have it!