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)