When Westside opens Aug. 6, 2013, look for these poems mounted prominently on walls near elavators:
Wind rises, and the great trees sway.
Night falls, and the deep sky darkens.
Moon rises, widening white silver.
Always all of these things — always.
A breeze born of the blue
sets sunlit branches
trunks swaying, heartwood
those green centuries awake
in the wind.
Every rock comes from a mountain —
breaks loose, tumbles free, and now
resting in my palm.
Welcome water, purest
wet, what we wander
whole deserts to find.
As wildflowers stretch their petals
after each winter,
so we repair, extend our arms
to ourselves, to one another.
faces wide with light — full moons
risen in a constellation of grass.
My daughter opens buds before they’ve bloomed,
a careful peek into each sweet secret center.
Only three, she knows already they’re wise inside —
the flowers saying Look at all this light.