Silken hands
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by 
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Silken hands
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Glistening strands that sway and glow at noon
in summer, lit by all the million mirrors
of effervescent, ancient greening world
who vivifies at other hues' expense
the air, the leaves, the stalk — and most, the roots,
still life enough leaves to the swaying strands
to shine, and mime at beauty with their dance;
mortality, the evanescent prance
of youth upon the superficial plane
strikes deeper in the heart than the arcane;
more poignant is the mystical mundane.
And when the youngling filaments, to dust
have dropped, and curled — returning, as they must
unto the source of their brief issuance,
they crumble, with a searing radiance
to form the crumbling edge of living scroll:
papyrus, aether-clear, record the role
of every pulsèd part, of every scratch
of cosmic pen on space — and every match
of opposite with complement, to join
the seeming red with blue, the greening loin
of nature sending forth effulgent web:
each increase, and each yearn of living's ebb
are scrawlèd in the undulating strands
that sway and glow at noon with silken hands.
Writing and photos by @d-pend
created for HIVE on July 16, 2020
