Leaf

For woods are forms of grief

grown from the earth. For they creak

with the weight of it.

For each tree is an altar to time.

For the oak, whose every knot

guards a hushed cymbal of water.

For how the silver water holds

the heavens in its eye.

For the axletree of heaven

and the sleeping coil of wind

and the moon keeping watch.

For how each leaf traps light as it falls.

For even in the nighttime of life

it is worth living, just to hold it.