Three Views of Change
A tree trunk in wet marsh,
Intimate again with its own leaves,
Moves to nourishing decay.
Lichens and moss feed here,
Raising their personal forms
To scenes on insect roads.
Above the changing trunk
A smoke of butterflies
Mingles with resurrecting steam.
Something in the tree has stopped,
Has let the body down from its own weight,
Has simply let go.
And some of us who watch,
Who feel the common motion,
Are saddened by the stopping.
And some of us who feel,
Who watch the common changes,
Are gladdened by the feedings.
And some will ponder butterflies
And find unchanging hope,
In hovering evanescence.