Light through a lens refracted
In bright echoes of phantom
Sun --wind-driven optics align.
This is how it's done: send dust,
Time, entirety pinwheeling in
Space; ignite thought, feeling and
Place them right under reeling storm.
They will observe then run inside
Where it is warm, home --where
I am writing this poem.
In a midwinter web
Raphiolepis snags some
Morning gray and holds it
Where day may take it,
Measured out atom by atom
Into other seasons-- into
Beans, berries, sea-green pattypan--
Past and future gardens.
I do not know where
This web began.
Bagatelle,
Encrypted
In living cells
Defines each
Unscripted
Judgement Day:
Not destiny, more
Melody in time
And chance; not
Hell, but
A bagatelle,
A dance.
