Plants invade, butterflies deceive, a quiet plan
emerges.
Saplings of the crowded forest rarely flower.
Still, they create stems and leaves that reach upward.
I have seen a Swallowtail butterfly enter the
forest veil and
rest for many minutes on the leaf of a stunted choke cherry.
And pass by the sweet fragrance of a garden rose.
Society of Plants
There is movement in the forest.
Nameless individuals grow, as we sleep.
They reach up, in search of an advantage.
In my dream, trees and birds protect me,
yet they cast shadows on darker events.
Grove
Hiding in the grove,
a crow eyed an opening of sky.
A cold breeze drove air across the trees.
Not-yet-turned leaves fell.
The bird flew off, arcing
through the branches.
His wings made a sound of rustling
black taffeta.
The Moon Has No Light
The Moon has no light of her own, hers
is a marginal brightness. Though she drifts
farther from sight, she is the luminary of the night.
But in the dark hours
her will draws out the winter buds,
causes the seas to swell
and with a thin finger, points the way to spring.