~JAMES OWENS~

TEMPLE

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Leaves filter valuable scraps of sun, the same energy
That heaved ice from the ground two months ago

And now shivers out into birch catkins
Littering the soil beneath the birches,

After rain, like a carpet of fuzzy worms,
And maple samarae, just as thick,

Rotoring down a rain of detached wings
When a breeze brushes them free—

Energy invents shape against contingent
Fact, pushing out to warm the curves

And crenellated, given limits of a world
Nor chance nor design. This is meaning: a lyric

Flush of detail, crimping along
The lucent, veined edge of a maple key

That fills the cleared space of the mind,
Understanding like music against late-spring chill

Where the sun breathes an opening in the trees.

 

© by James Owens