We all have a
             shadow
that never fades.

No matter the
                     light
we pour on it..

Ever when came once
On the whispers
Of a chanced
Breeze dancing through
The tall limbs of
Old trees standing
Proud as monuments
On a hill
I chanced
One day rising on
A hill alone
After brushing bare legs
Through tall prairie
Grasses long
Way then was the
Tops of oaks maples growth
That existed before my
Conception in a way
Meant to grow
Awaiting to convince me
Of the awe fraught with
Discovering
Every step taken
Can be

And each drop of rain
that fell onto my tongue
reminded me of the
taste of her lips.

Where the sunlight splashes through
The barely moving branches of the Magnolia tree
It makes a fascinating pattern on the patio.
Amy Lowell wrote of patterns in a lovely, angry verse
When she was writing about how she hated war.

I bend to trace the patterns with my toe
And focus on the possibilities of now
With monster canons rolling down the boulevards
And goose-step imitators marching by
While in the stands a devilishly evil Buddha smiles.

A zephyr gently stirs the leaves
And all the patterns rearrange again
I look at them with half closed eyes
And I can’t find the symmetry
That I saw just an hour ago.

The Kraken still is held by chains
And though he gushes fire and venom
The patterns on the wall contain him
As he thrashes to replace the sun
With a new one of his own creation.

Amy walked a peaceful garden path
In dappled sunlight long ago
Creating lines that live today.
I trundle down a brick-lined walk
And hope that I will have tomorrow.
                         ljm