Nature's Sedoka
Nature's sedoka
in everything everywhere,
each season a frame around
its heart— its fingers
through every warm bloom, picking
through every cold cavity—
its face— night or dawn
settling on leafy cheeks;
like rolled dew on grassy beds,
or bulky seeds low;
or rising with the first clouds
that the hot sun disavows.
Even in cities,
where it plays with reflections
on window glass— forests tell
the poet in us
to open our ghostly pane—
to breathe the colors of grain,
our memories in
noon heat or raining's murmur
on skin— or drifting snowflakes
that would not stick; or
in birdsong— like one spirit,
or in the after silence.
Nature's sedoka,
like the green it chose for my
song, intertwines with bright and
dull multi-flecked hues—
a tableau where a shaded
conscience glows without envy.
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