Ginkgo biloba

Under the year’s first snow
the garden’s in hiding.

Its white silhouette
confounds the eye

aching for delight, clarity,
a dark glass it can see

its own fullness in.
The yellow confetti

of ginkgo leaves,
a gesture towards

definition, is oblique
as a Chinese oracle:

a flock of ochre moths
drawn to pinpricks

of frozen light;
notched wings, half-buried,

neither one nor two.
As you look closer,

look like a moth
swooping, and brush

a fingertip through
this blind dazzle

tumbled out of the sky,
you can just make it out,

the miracle, a whole
drift of stars,

six-pointed, twinkling.

From: Reading the Flowers, Arc, 2016.

Posted: Tue 17 Nov, 2009