god and a kestral

we smell,
in the river wind
the one chance to be
what we are;
lark sparrow,
tom cat
blood wort,
or fool.
unsolved equation
perfectly inaccurate,

holy distraction
from our real work;
one foot in front of the other.
heart beat started,
putting up,
pulling down,
tasks of love.

we get
one moment guaranteed,
when razor sharp perception
meets god
in a cooling
summer wind.
and we remain in that instant
stable,
heart beat stopped,
kestrel before the drop,

and we smell,
as bee balm and lavender,
words in the wind that
whisper,
“for this is the day....”