Today, my rake is a leaf and thatch comb,
and its tines call chickadee’s jaunt—
tip a cap, bounce a bough, glean a seed chickadee,
And somehow our coy acquaintance minds the time
I spent in Mexico with 3 black-capped nuns
bobbing in a boat on the salt pan birth waters
of Magdalena lagoon,
where we shared shy and unspoken hope
of gleaning a glance at a gray whale.
There, too, in the glint of regard from whale and calf—
new and molded from candle wax—
I recognized fellow pilgrims in the boat and beyond.