The Leaves of Man

That words be
The leaves of man
Is a thought we struggle
To understand beyond
What words themselves
Permit us to know

That they display
More than a single side
And flutter in a breeze
Ever so gentle and slow
And always strive
To absorb more light

And whether on vellum
Or parchment inscribed
Or leather bound
Or bagged in plastic
Stacked at the curbside

How they ultimately
Find best use when
As good mulch they
Help other words
In good turn to grow

Easter Sunday

Good Christ to be there
At the beginning
As pistol shot rings out
Announcing the
Race back to life

Supplicant in the soil
My spade unwieldy
For the filigree
Of first growth

Instead my fingers
Follow the Pilgrim trail
Tracing the green line of
Renewal as it radiates
Up and out

Oh hologram of
Light and life

Into the very heart
Of purple madder
The asparagus shimmers
A perfectly formed
Whisper of its
Future self

The strawberry leaf
Blinks and unfurls
Stutter stepping
Across the threshold

I am dumbstruck
By the intrepidity
Of perennial life
Unleashed and still
Quivering with the
First taste of vernal light