To See This Clearly by Maya Stein

Mary

Megan

I am no magic trick, no doer of miracles, no water walker.

I am no architect of glory, no layer-on of hands, no angel wing.

I am no weaver of gold, no mythmaker, no parachute artist.

I am no halo of stillness in a downpour.

I am no treasure chest, no hero, no thunderbolt wielder.

I am no rabbit foot or lottery number.

I am no combination lock, no mystery ingredient, no optical illusion.

But here is a handful of sunflowers from the florist's sidewalk jungle.

Here is a blanket to spread on the grass for an afternoon.

Here is a song on the radio that calls for dancing.

Here is a chocolate bar I will share with you.

Here is a road sign, a notebook, photographs of those I have loved.

Here is a slice of bright blue sky, a hummingbird

thrashing her wings around an apricot tree.

To see this clearly

is enough.

Midday Summer Dream: 14 by Yannis Ritsos

Megan

Mary

The girls lather the sun's head, and he curses like a

spoiled boy when they thrust his head into the wash basin

in order to rinse it. 

Thousands of soap bubbles rise into

the air, like tiny rainbows above the horizon of a

spellbound butterfly. 

The pigeons chase after the bubbles.

The light gestures, scolding the just waking swallows.

It's amazing the grownups remain asleep with so much

racket. 

We'll thrust a cicada under grandfather's nostril

so he can smell our same spring and the end of his cane

will bloom like a miniature cherry tree.

Being But Men by Dylan Thomas

Being but men, we walked into the trees
Afraid, letting our syllables be soft
For fear of waking the rooks,
For fear of coming
Noiselessly into a world of wings and cries.

If we were children we might climb,
Catch the rooks sleeping, and break no twig,
And, after the soft ascent,
Thrust out our heads above the branches
To wonder at the unfailing stars.

Out of confusion, as the way is,
And the wonder, that man knows,
Out of the chaos would come bliss.

That, then, is loveliness, we said,
Children in wonder watching the stars,
Is the aim and the end.

Being but men, we walked into the trees.