larks’ song heard only
by the lilies of the field
nodding in the wind

lengthening tree trunks
reach as if to some day touch
a wandering cloud

a world of movement
the birds’ taut circles among
lengthening tree trunks

green depths of the grass
underfoot among the roots
a world of movement

the robin’s shadow
pecks back up at it from the
green depths of the grass

a wandering cloud
eclipses the sun, swallows
the robin’s shadow

from behind his long
graying hair, in faded tones,
a wrinkled tattoo

falling through the air
unseen and without a sound:
the leaf no one plucked