Wind Gift

For you, something not put
even in prayer.
Like broad wings that swim thick
under your fall
And won’t let you drop
through the air.

Or the same thing under the sea
where your boat goes.
A teeming companionship
of life too full for a hollow
—the way a canyon’s alive
when it snows.

That’s the way, under and over
and all around—
Miraculous out of the void
All for you—
so wild the eye roves
wing, fin, flake
nor touches the ground.

–William Stafford