Butterflies and Leaves

 

An ocean of green
Still glistens outside my door.
Fall is forever.

 

Buddha is smiling;
Buddha is always smiling;
What's with the Buddha?

 

My strange porch plant grows;
From wind born seed and bird shit;
Who knows what is next?

 A touch of old friend:
Car stops, blink of discussion.
I feel much warmer.

In the shallow glen
A touch of sunshine is all
To make it magic.

Loud roaring machines
Splay metal octopi hands--
Men rip off tree limbs.

Large abandoned shack
Is abandoned once again
To grass and forest.

Butterflies and leaves
Do not pose for the camera
As they fly and float.