Study number 1
All the long-short day,
sunlight moves across my lawn,
turning sharp shadows
of the limp leaves of fallen autumn
from west to east.
(So shadow is the slave of dying.)
So Shakti is deployed by leavings
of the violent seasons! —and yet! —
and yet they do so not alone.
The leaves of dying
lie upon a bed of grass —
grass that shows new tender growth —
thus elegantly shadowing
the mystery of fulgent Dao,
as daintiness of new-formed blades
belies the violence of drought and cold.
The light, the leaves, the grass —
all these are elements of shadow,
all required for
the lurid, limpid, languor
of my musings.
My lust for them is fantasy:
illusion without discipline.
The blades of new grass are a solace,
emollient to melancholy,
not useless, but desired.
So burn the embers of the fading fall;
so spring the hopes that will belie them all.
Revised January 10, 2022.
