as flies juggle around

a riff of silence--a beat

is pardoned from time.

those little eyes smiling

at the wind-down of April.

where the tremulo of a

web string supersedes two

tree limbs, and undocumented

little birds stay at beauty's bomb.

what is it to watch

a single green leaf

become a Geisha...

reflecting the sunlit

transparency of another

leaf?

as if it were her own

silhouette.

black has

consoled the light

of color.

especially when

it allows for appearance.