Moonlight has no enemies. It circles

around the eye of the earth, showing us

the favorite side, reserving its right to be

specific without reason.


Shadows never speak as they follow close

behind, imitating without initiating,

patiently waiting for the next sleight

of hand or foot.


The wind remains new. Inventing

paths at various levels between cold and hot,

moist and dry, never tiring of change.


Grass knows its color, accepting the shades

of green over centuries while never altering

shape or size. Unlike weeds, growing

everywhere you don’t want them.




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