by C.R. McCormmach
The sun shines briefly through clouds
after many days of rain steady
a tree glows orange and yellow
the only one remaining with leaves.
I am transfixed by it,
held in a strange grief as
my mind empties into breath
my body into turbulence.
I notice the sodden oak leaves
and water running in the gutter.
I notice the dogs are ready to move on.
Still, I am held in the vision
and the sadness blossoms.
I am neither the one noticing,
nor the one gripped
I am infinite, outside time,
engulfed by a perception,
not grasping for meaning even.
And yet moments arise and pass
it is chill and my feet are becoming wet,
the dogs tug, the sound of a car passing.
Somewhere I am struggling
and somewhere I do not care in the least
that the tree is beautiful and I am privileged.
Existence matters, being, that is.
I am not sure if knowing this matters.
My chest cracks open
and a strange light springs to the tree
to shimmer at the tips of the branches.