Quivering lines in the forest.
Birds grasp trees and lizards stop
and stare down and to the East.
There is silence over the lake
melting crystals of snow
suspended in the tepid air
A frogs bulging eye
is wiped clean by its fragile lip
and wheels start churning underground
And then the trees start to grow
taking a bit of the ground up with it
and as it surges ahead of time,
stop-frames one per day
makes it seem like the dance.
And soon the tree is felling its leaves
after they are exhausted from a summer
gathering sunlight and feeding the heart.
There is calm and the tree is now old
time has returned to seconds ticking by
rhythmically an insect negotiates
the gaps in the bark
the ancient skin folds
where wisdom lies
The noise of the insects lie below
the sound of the rain
the cries of amphibians
question your very philosophy
is it a sad lament
or a squeal of joy