Let me hold a leaf up to he sky:
you see against the sun
the black silhouette
framed by the light.
Your eyes rise higher, the even blacker
shapes of migrating birds,
forked opaque dots, barely visible...
this is it:
the kernel in the dark-skinned fruit
of each thing,
It is here, where we look
you say, and thought
should be a shoot...consider obscurity, graves,
rooting
that lies in darkness until....
