Made in the shade

There are no words for this nowhere night...
The branches that lean on lusty air,
the mind that sways without care,
to This and back to That-without photosynthesis
or reason for process just in this dim moonlit
moment for rest and breath.

Steadfast in the breeze, and leaves too shiver
in a display of stirring resilience and transcendence
mocking me, I see. So-we still strive fruitlessly further
for naught and knots
where such difficulty and circularity
is always relevant at the root under foot...

Well, that is deep-
We being anew-acorn to oak; choking up
our symbiotic exchange of needs
and invisible nows, for want of more
foliage for later, lushness across a lifespan.

For Now, nothing is more than enough
to keep me here seeking a lone moment
to feel my place and lose it
all in the same breath.


Painting by Caspar David Friedrich (1819-1820) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.