Leaf tips in a slow dance with the breeze:
A kind of calligraphy, invisible traces as
The invisible passes—-Never to know,
Never to know. . .But the subject is love
And loss, loss and love again—-The thousand-
Leafed branches in movement hypnotic:
In blind bliss, or in a merciful melancholia,
That so ties us to the soft slow movement
Of time that we succumb to momentum
And can’t see what’s coming, can’t know.
