The trees have leaves, that fall upon the glass
Nothing reflects from leaves.The place that was
In every image has a leaf-shaped bite
taken from it. And in the line of sight
Infinite mirrors show each other's shine
less by that leaf's shape, by its green and spine
perfectly pictured, When it blows away
something is lost, that absence and the play
of light and dark, solid and not quite there.
Wholeness restored to image, yet we care
that something real intruded on the show.
We care and then we have to let it go
And watch pure light unhindered flow between
Mirrors again, unmarked where leaves have been
