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| Art and photo by Katie Scott |
My Small Envy of the Russet Leaf
The sweet tidal tongue of sap recedes
and this emanation—oak’s slow poetry—
gentles with a last bright flare of
dénouement, then sighs, secedes.
Leaf does not haul fleshy knots of artery
to dirt, requires little of rot’s muscle to exhume
its double-helixed hive. Like shakuhachi
to Shostakovich, thin leaf to thick human.
Yet, despite and within strange différance
silence unspools relation—listener-musician,
musician-listener: in the end,
breath, no breath, coda , no coda,
undoes the lie of revelation we call life
from the indifferent benevolence of light.
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