Friday, September 17, 2010


A tree drew its own
Sketchy shape on the ground
Marking out leaves
Where the sun would have cleared
A blank page on the grass.

It colored it in
With purple and green
And blurred all the edges
Where the wind swishes past.

Then it proudly turned 'round
So the whole earth could see
And savor the sight
From every angle
From morning to night.

And it wept till the dawn
When its art disappeared;
Through the dark, moonless night
It shed star-like tears.

And the morning that broke
Broke against weary eyes
Like the tide folding in
On eroded, black rocks
With suffocating sighs.

The tree marveled to see
On the tear-bedewed ground
The painting renewed
And still swinging around.