by Marissa Bell Toffoli.
River sings us to sleep,
ferns guard our keep.
Under a canopy
of centuries
what dreams glow
in the starlight.
Storied roots.
Infinite tendrils.
The fog grows—
awe around us.
In this nest we’ve built,
akin to marbled murrelets,
waves call us back to shore
again, again, again.
The waking world.
Open arms, these branches
shelter in the clamor
and bustle of foraging life.
Who are we to deny a dream?
No hope without a full night.
Who are we to these giants?
Who are we to breathe this breeze
if we will not whistle it back?