These things

I will give you
that aching blue of ocean at the height of spring
the gliding grace of one merganser upon still water
the harrier's smooth wingspan against vivid sky---
the blood of a mouse in her talons.
River-water shining keenly
as the presence of my beloved
as that glorious, drowning sea
its soft voice that sings:

we are alive, we are still alive
and still there is joy, reason to think
there might be one more bright morning
one sharp and hopeful pang of love.