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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