The Day

what day would it be?  N. Scott Momaday

The day

was a tracing of leaves

young as I was, with their first green

their gloss

willing to cast themselves out and be

caught by sun and air

I sat beneath them in a rising

of twigs and green 

slender limbs drawn by the sun

all of us young, all of us saying yes

the leaves, the child, the slim trunks

and the light that held us

the air that said, come then

since you are willing

here is the door open

open in you

and all of us entered together

leaves, child, the young trees

as we began our lives

in the silt of a flood plain

a glint of sun and water

that moment with the wind still

and only ourselves

slow in the light

—Sarah Webb