Encounters - Linda Whittenberg

Fierce badger, bold gladioli, new grandchild--
everything can be traced back to headwaters,
to a small round hole in the desert floor
or to starburst or to Serpent whose fiery breath
set the world spinning.
 
Do molecules not tango?
Do atoms tangle and untangle, move to melodies
in the key of C played on harmonium?
There comes a time when you only dance
the slow ones, but still, you waltz
as if the whole world were moving in ¾ time.
 
We are neighbor to juniper berries that feed
winter birds, family to birds that carry messages
from up north. When we witness
high-pitched howls of young coyotes, they sound
like human wailing. Some words, some sounds,
need no translating. We are multilingual.
 
Reverberations point to what is holy
and forever, the space between us. It is star,
it is whale, tiny blue flower. I wouldn’t want
one day to regret not having polished the brightness,
nor having thanked the Serpent, even though
I don’t know her real name.