talk to me, yellow tree,
tell me how you sing in gold
harmonies of light and float,
you lift and fall in autumn
pieces on the ground ~ whisper
your dance of shifting limbs
you tell time with your turn
teach me roots that grasp
frozen grip when all they hold is
gone
No one really knows the face
behind the garden gates, but
she smiles when the sun holds
her gaze. Eyes of ancient wonder
sing notes of blue upon the garden.
And when the leaves of fall crown her
gold, she holds it like it’s the last
she’ll ever know. Colors die,
cold creeps in, fades her into stone.
The flowers and sun betray her light.
She becomes invisible again.
Talking to the Clouds 