A June breeze beckons to worship in this
cathedral of filtered green as the regular

choir warms up in the trees, a back-row
Pileated punctuating practiced notes with her

own harsher beats. Eyes open, ears wide to
wonder, we pray, as those robed around us

in fur and feather lead the day’s liturgy. A first
passage murmured by creek water and stone,

then, the call and response of hens and poults.
The groundhog waddles in twitchy and late
as usual.