For Elizabeth

​there was a time
when I would pluck
a star out of the sky
and place it on your head
it would singe my fingers
a little, it was smaller
than I imagined
as wonderful as a seed.
these days my giving 
is more generous
and consists entirely
of pointing: look at
the cardinal burning a hole
through the trees
look, how the 
moss slouches heavy 
against the northsides 
leaning away from 
confusion, look here,
the blueberry, ripe, 
generous as water
and the water without end
strewn everywhere
(look! look!)
as if by chance
if you can imagine
no other cause
a constellation of miracles
yours for the taking 
(including the small 
parenthetical of my heart) 
if you’ve mastered the 
language of yes.
​