Photosynthesis turns seeds
to swallows, swallows to wind,
wind to breath, then the almost
indecipherable chirp at sundown.
See the pale-yellow tops of dying trees,
the longest shadows before the sun
drops into the future and the stars
burn their presence through the tumble
of hours until there’s enough dark to see.
See the ocean, pushing us back, pulling
us in toward where an imaginary horizon
meets the rising moon, lit, like everything,
by someone else’s field of light
bent around the stone of the earth?
We think we are solid, but even rock,
far slower than trees and wishes, changes
and places. Light and water always win.