Maya
Megan Atthowe
On the wall I’m captured
by the leaves dancing, graceful,
moving slowly in the soft, pale light.
Outlines merge and fade,
movements shiver like cytoplasm,
the shimmer of cells busy with Life.
But when I reach to touch, nothing is there
except shadows and absence,
and I’m mesmerized with ephemeral play.
Turn around,
see the sunlight that shines
past the cover of trees.
You cannot see the mountains anymore here.
It is all grown in, a ring of shivering, whispering, speaking green.
