How Swiftly They Turn

Light from the back door
Opens into the outside,
Letting darkness out.









Thistle turned to fluff
Shining the sunny field;
No longer needs barbs.

Red among the green:
Some ivy begins to turn
Enveloped by fall.

It's almost bare now,
This tree that billowed with leaves.
Wind will complete it.












Old lady stands still,
Slightly bent, clutching a cane,
Doubting the sunshine.



How swiftly they turn
From lush green to lifeless brown
These ferns of summer.











Metal Goliaths
Pass each other in the road
Carefully huffing.

Green moss on the road
Fills up the cement schisms.
Small leaves drop softly.

The log is banded
With shadows of leaves and limbs:
Palette for the sun.

Soon it will be earth,
This log devoured by time
(And hungry insects).









Clear eyes wide open
She stares at me and through me,
Small Buddha baby.