Branches

Like the branches
of a tree
tangents of life reach softly,
stark interstices float
with the lofting of time –
each a corollary
toward its own conclusions,
Zen-like yet outward-facing
monastic in flourish, empyrean,
forming a choreography
of sunlight,
a time-dance of
oak and moonlight,
searing songs of
effortless calm and being
in a rainsong of air
filled with smells of juniper –
a fermentation of softness
becomes an amelioration
of candid loss
where the night has gained
its penury of sun,
intimates the evening
as last rays of light
lay bare across the arms of night.

 

© K. James Ribble

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