Evensong

In the late evening, a mourning dove cries 
by the liquid well of hills, near the dipping  
throat of a wood thrush close to a nightjar,

the toad chorus in a marsh, a blackbird’s 
flick of his red shoulder before a storm. 
The tallest reeds hum their dry rhythm

under the ringing pulse of northern lights    
witnessed as far south as this glacier lake 
with ancient, watery songs of provision