Three Views of Change

A tree trunk in wet marsh, Intimate again with its own leaves, Moves to nourishing decay. Lichens and moss feed here, Raising their personal forms To scenes on insect roads. Above the changing trunk A smoke of butterflies Mingles with resurrecting steam. Something of a tree has stopped, Has let its body down by its own weight, Has simply let go; And some of us who watch, Who feel a common motion, Are saddened by the stopping; And some of us who feel, Who watch the common changes, Are gladdened by the feeding; And some will ponder butterflies And find unchanging hope In hovering evanescence.