Nature's Sedoka

Nature's sedoka in everything everywhere, each season a frame around its heart— its fingers through every warm bloom, picking through every cold cavity— its face— night or dawn settling on leafy cheeks; like rolled dew on grassy beds, or bulky seeds low; or rising with the first clouds that the hot sun disavows. Even in cities, where it plays with reflections on window glass— forests tell the poet in us to open our ghostly pane— to breathe the colors of grain, our memories in noon heat or raining's murmur on skin— or drifting snowflakes that would not stick; or in birdsong— like one spirit, or in the after silence. Nature's sedoka, like the green it chose for my song, intertwines with bright and dull multi-flecked hues— a tableau where a shaded conscience glows without envy.