The sun as Golden Orb
blanched clean by western smog
crepes the light in its angle
shone crimson in blues
turquois in chameau
a calypso of sorbet
and asks me,
“where do you come from?
where are you going? I’d love to hear
your story, tell me everything –
It’s not that I don’t know you
It’s just that I don’t see you
as you see yourself —
know that you can find me,
I am everywhere, especially here,
now with all of nature around us
bound by no thing
and no one, like
A fall leaf in the fog
of Autumn’s emergence
casts its fallen doubt
as water ripples
// the briefest moment //
a symbol of its life
forming final a time,
callous
in its finality,
only to give us sleep
in the blare of Winter
the length for which
we – “
you can hear them now,
in the light waves
like ripples of the leaf.
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© Thespian Drummer