the stage is set;
the day is still;
the grass is fresh,
coated lightly by the drops of dew.
the curtain hides the scene from all,
until the right hour is among us;
soon, it is pulled back by the sight of Earth’s lover.
the days are as long as we think they are,
for as long as we can count
we will assume the answers, and stop looking for them
in the rings of trees.
but still, we will confront the rings of trees
as we make the cut – so clean –
and later, when the show has ended,
the stage has been swept,
you return to your house,
and you slip into your bed,
you will think of the shapes of the trees in the darkness
but they will no longer stand.
and the shadow is not yours
but it will follow you, all the days of your life.