In this sunset I am alone among many trees, the day a light stony grey. They don't sway, but like a thousand notes of music they seem too deliberately articulate their leaves in a mass, visible green chorus. Each leaf at its base diverges to return in a point, the many pinnacles loping to their purpose; they slouch down so low that a few of them almost touch the ground. The dark, firm springs of wet pines straighten their voices like efficient women. And in a steady glowing small, face-like leaves burst softly forward in slowly growing fountains. The roundness of some of them sings to me like fishmouths, silently and purely their praises go upward.
From the collection "Youth Youth Youth"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.