Shall we walk through this ancient grove,
So quiet its shadows speak?
I think so,
It seems the perfect day;
Cool with a light morning rain.
Can you see those large raindrops
Fall from the gray-blue sky like crystal balls,
Exploding into fractal pieces of duplicity
Shattering all illusions of impermanence?
Can you see the Oxalis, how it grows like clover
Across the moldering waves of humus
In search of gold beyond shaded rainbows?
Today is a very special day,
For I think I would like to be dead
Lying beneath this humus,
And yet know the joy of this prophecy:
Even the Redwood must die.
© 1998 Jim Cain