how perfect it is
in between the heavy spills of rain
the ants pace in perfect seams
and tend to their industry of secrets

a woodpecker hops
about the soft trunk of a dead tree
tapping here                                                                                             tapping there

the tiny eyes of sakura
begin to slowly open

go ahead and mark your season

pick a place in the bright stream of things and dance away in the details

catch cadence and gather all the mystery you can possibly hold

and fear not

when our time is up

we will
not be forgotten

until our time is up

and we will
be forgotten

and that
will be just fine