Without Words
By Robin Atkins

Above me, a cathedral of Madronas,
their bent trunks arching over the road,
their lacy branches meeting in the center,
catch the sun's light,
where taller, straighter Cedars
do not steal it away.

Driving slowly through this natural tunnel,
I find myself recalling last night,
lying stiffly beside the man of my dreams,
awake with self pity that for weeks
he hasn't told me he loves me.

Under their majestic arch,
the Madronas are giving me their lesson.
"No need for sadness," they say.
"Bend your trunk to find the light."

I bend, and at once many memories
come rushing into my mind --
little things like how he
paper towels the stove after
frying his eggs, brings home
a rusty penny for my artwork,
pays for our dinner on the town.

The Madronas are whispering,
I have found the light.
And the sunshine smiles love
into my heart, without words.