In a motionless thicket, a single leaf
twists, as if two fingers roll its stem,
then stops. It twists again and drops.
In a tree, broken branches held aloft
by stubborn bark sway on a pendulum
wider than the solid branches swing.
Most things blaze before they die.
Stars nova and sunlight is an
incandescent exhalation.
What after? What, after my last
shiver through, do I want there to be?
Leaf, branch, star, sun, and you.
