to W. Walt Rinehart, 2 months
If I had time
I would speak
of light’s manner
upon leaves. Yet,
language has not
mastered time
for me:
no memory
past the present.
Light is green
upon a darker green
that shifts, not again,
but now
where once
has never been.
The wind and
light are leaves.
No cause to think,
simply watch
what-is:
light
among
leaves.
(July 1986)
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