your expansiveness and spaciousness.
help me move out of myself.

I’m from the sky, the water.
the two swirl together
in the blackness of space, suspended.
I’m from a pulse of light.
without you, there is no me.
without me, no you.
a convergence of water and salt
at the heart of our watershed.

praise you great lake, great life-giver,
incessantly reflecting the face of god,
eternally unfolding prismatic glimpses of all there is
without you, where will bison go?
like ancient minotaurs will they disappear?
without you, who will provide us with the ethereal?

without you, we can’t find our courage.
with you, we could flood the arteries of our capitol,
end this drought of imagination.

Composed of lines gathered from River Writers on Antelope Island during the 2022 winter vigil.