On a bench overlooking the river
longing brings me to the desired sensation
of a hand on my back,
a grandmother’s hand giving comfort and reassurance.

Looking at the sky
I imagine a grandfather and a grandmother in conversation.
They are consulting about what to do.
They are equal in presence and attitude and respect.
They are from a time and place where there is no difference
in value between them.
This I have never seen.
It is the kind of communion I need and feel the world needs.
They are communing over the river valley,
above the early spring tops of trees below me,
this valley’s blanket of dark grey lace over wool.
There is hope in the tips of some of the branches,
red, green, beginning.
River threads
and tree branch webs are communing
with the lungs of the world and all the people,
everything breathing in its element.

The grandmother and grandfather murmur in the sky,
on the banks of the river,
over the town.
As we breathe we can hear them with our bodies.