Which leaf were you then?
When you glimmered amid
The overrunning roses
Of the tree of life?
The gold one, or the gray?
You see, you don’t remember, do you
So
How
Does it matter now
Your name, your well-mapped nook,
Your page in the bound-up book
Of the war-clad notes of drum and fife?
Or are you merely,
And really more clearly,
The crew
Of sun-capped fairies
Dancing on the eyelid
Of the sleeping cow
Who drifts away
Into dozes
Near the curious, fish-inhabited brook,
Along the skylit, dappled trees
Of the green draonflies’ day,
Or else even
The light
Stepping of the coyote’s toe
On the white
Skipping patch of winter snow,
All within the cosmic flower,
At the raven’s lightning hour,
Of the ringed serpent’s ever-radiant garden
Of the night?
© Sharon St Joan, July 2013
Photo: Quadell / Wikimedia Commons / “English: Alnus incana ssp. rugosa — leaves.” / “This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.”