Stately women call
from the forest,
beckon me
from the forest,
beckon me
to waiting wombs,
gentle angels swaying in morning wind.
Pines scatter needles
in salal, cedar twists
toward the ocean,
her bows reaching
to touch
rhododendron.
She, rare,
satin, cool in red garb
laced with orange
she steps onto my path.
Her of many names
I call Madrona.
Love me
in return.
