While Walking

Look for me on beaches

where I've walked

to hear the surf wash

even memory glossy,

where my lungs

breathe mist from swells

above the undertow, and any ache

with the tide subsides.

Look for me in the mountains,

where the blue is higher, a person taller

next to lodgepole pine

than on any plain;

where glacial lakes receive

the silence of the peaks,

and mouths of fish

mime ovations at the sky.

Look for me at my desk

in eastern light, or

against the paper birch draping low

around my pad and pencil.

Or try south rooms when the moon is white

and shadow-leaves on walls

are ripples of water.

Look for me at storefront galleries on the way,

or in libraries, where I don't mind

I'm smaller. Or at the river, or

under trees in rain.

Look for me.