Which leaf were you then?


When you glimmered amid


The overrunning roses


Of the tree of life?


The gold one, or the gray?


You see, you don’t remember, do you






Does it matter now


Your name, your well-mapped nook,


Your page in the bound-up book


Of the war-clad notes of drum and fife?


Or are you merely,


And really more clearly,


The crew


Of sun-capped fairies


Dancing on the eyelid


Of the sleeping cow


Who drifts away


Into dozes


Near the curious, fish-inhabited brook,


Along the skylit, dappled trees


Of the green draonflies’ day,


Or else even


The light


Stepping of the coyote’s toe


On the white


Skipping patch of winter snow,


All within the cosmic flower,


At the raven’s lightning hour,


Of the ringed serpent’s ever-radiant garden


Of the night?


© Sharon St Joan, July 2013


Photo: Quadell / Wikimedia Commons / “English: Alnus incana ssp. rugosa — leaves.”  / “This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.”