The Painting
Remember
when the hours of summer
ran together like colors—
endless blue, grass green, dandelion—
and feeling
the breath of every wild
and beautiful thing
brush against our skin,
a visible and invisible gold?
Do you remember
being sweetly devoured
by mystery?
The fluttering of a butterfly
in cupped hands.
The bend of a tree
calling to be reached.
The happy slumber
of a garden cat in July.
The days were steeped
in marigolds and honeybees
and the bright drip
of popsicle juice
running down our arms.
Remember blowing bubbles,
the pink violet orbs
suspended
like our urge to burst them:
only for a moment?
After dinner
we caught fireflies
then watched them float—
our tiny lanterns
to the sky.
Do you remember
the lush silence of stars?
May it ever consume us,
this mystery,
the sheer astonishment
of being beautifully,
miraculously
ALIVE.
Kathryn Yingst
July 19, 2021