On an uncommonly warm night
swathes of trees stand like armies
camped under the moonlight.

And reflected under the mercurial light
are paths of plum blossoms
opening the dark in drops of white.

Allowed to range freely, one's sight
sways with the trees and leaps,
absorbed into the depth of night.

Below beams a cadre of yellow lights:
from the rooms we have gone into
away from the wide open afterlife.