Children of heroes have glory for breakfast. - William Stafford

We think it is calm here, or that our storm is the right size.

B.C.

The seed that met water spoke a little name.

(Great sunflowers were lording the air that day;
This was before Jesus, before Rome; that other air
Was readying our hundreds of years to say things
That rain has beat down on over broken stones
And heaped behind us in many lands.)

Quiet in the earth a drop of water came,
And the little seed spoke: “Sequoia is my name.

"Today"

The ordinary miracles begin. Somewhere
a signal arrives: “Now,” and the rays
come down. A tomorrow has come. Open
your hands, lift them: morning rings
all the doorbells; porches are cells for prayer.
Religion has touched your throat. Not the same now,
you could close your eyes and go on full of light.

And it is already begun, the chord
that will shiver glass, the song full of time
bending above us. Outside, a sign:
a bird intervenes; the wings tell the air,
“Be warm.” No one is out there, but a giant
has passed through town, widening streets, touching
the ground, shouldering away the stars.