Why am I this leaf? Why is this leaf me?
Where in our universe did we unfold
as one? We organs of earth can breathe free
here since we both exist. When Goethe told
us of frail leaves did he imply our soul,
our thin intellect, our relationships?
When I perceive your graceful hands unfold
as eucalyptus in sun and my lips
whisper this, can you sense my wisp of breath,
my heart with your heart like leaves enfolding?
When my thoughts of you entwine, sacred wreath
of prayer, no surprise I dream of holding
your hand. When your sun-cured hair -- curled in braids --
unfolds, no shock I’m no longer afraid.
Roger Armbrust
June 21, 2015
