To juggle the shadows
with scant breeze from above,
the tilt of lofty branches
move across the face of green,
an unexplained casual-time sundial
travels towards noon.
Crowds of grasses raise chants,
whistle around sun spots
til they’re all but shade patches,
then they can sleep easy.
A few feet further, someone walks
along a leisurely lawn path,
shirt tied around waist,
almost a sail pushing forward
on the crest of heatwaves.
Linen arms, an apprentice Houdini
exiting some knotted hold,
and then to mooch away.
Leant back on elbows all is normal,
people pass by this restive seat;
as sunny an hour under the tree
as it was the first summer I sizzled,
all that seems to alter is my view,
but not my desire for this place.
