I sat under a canopy
where green leaves made their shadows
dance like puppets.
Each leaf was like a finger
brushing the dry earth,
but with movement stilled and nature bleached,
the experience is gone in my picture:
a moment saved but lost
in a diluted wasteland
as I am.

Under love’s care I complained,
and when love took my shade
I cursed it.
Left with barren branches,
my only testament is on a page
seldom understood as love.