Ginkgo Tree

On Tuesday, I drove away in the morning.
The Ginkgo Tree stood in its full luminescence.
Did the sun shine through its delicate leaves
Or did it impart its own shine?
There is no more perfect autumn leaf,
No sweeter chalice for the colors of the fall.

On Tuesday night, I drove home again
The moon was in the Ginkgo now, a radiant being.
Each vein detailed the glowing phosphor,
Strained at the end of each small twig,
Inhaled the breath that fills last moments.
There is no sweeter chalice for perfect infusions.

On Wednesday morning, the golden carpet
Began to spread about the Ginkgo’s roots, too lovely
To walk upon, no muddy boot dares step there.
Tonight, when I return, the Ginkgo will stand naked,
Pierced by spears of circular dying and finished.
There is no sweeter swiftness than its swift going.

19 Nov 2008