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.

  _________________________________

© Thespian Drummer