There is a fit between earth and sky.
It is the jagged trees
It is the blowing grass
It is the spittled sea
We seek to conjoin heaven and earth.
Your parents lie still in the meadow.
Their memories reach out
They try to smile
They lie mute
We ask them, “Where is the way?”
How do gulls, ospreys, and sparrows
know what to do?
From their forebears?
From their DNA?
All the creatures somehow know.
Before we rest in our grassy plot
and see our offspring
“Listen!” we whisper
as they fly between earth and sky.
© 2018 Larry Kilham