A Benediction

there’s a boulder on the redwood path

left by receding ice a myria-annum ago.

it is covered in dark lichen and stands out

among white-streaked limestone crags.

on the pursuit of happiness, up from liberty

through poison gardens to marble caves,

yellowed soft cream lines in the quietest blue 

wide-cropped, picnicked, flat-topped true.

mahogany extends twelve and a migratory bird 

with sails full of dreams and a heart of hope.

in fresh greenery, patches of moss entwine.

my grandmother’s table at Easter comes to mind.

polished, under lace white cloth set deviled eggs,

stuffed celery, asparagus, and two-week labor 

of tradition, triangle pillows of pansotti ravioli.

forest floor covered in a centerpiece of chaparral lilies, 

so it goes, pork sword, mutually assured seduction.

my moveable feast of a universe; a resurrection

of butter, eggs, and cream in rich scents of hollowed

chocolates. carpeted pink sorrel, purple stemmed

leathery sala, blackish-purple fruits in feathered ferns. 

wax-resist rowen red onion skins, cedar bath radiant turns

the sun's strong yellows writing in the soot, unction.