My tears are
dark clouds at the end of a storm,
scudding over wind-tossed hills,
the scent of firs carried through the hollows

They call forth wolves, who take up the howl
one after another,
their sweet throats lifting toward the sky

They summon the answering rivers,
rumbling swiftly across the earth,
the encompassing tides, flooding and ebbing

They find their place
in the cushioned atmosphere
in which the entire earth’s comprehensive rush
is one.

©Wendy Mulhern
October 11, 2015