A Poem: A Curtain

 
Time is a curtain drawn,

like this dressing of new leaves
upon the maple tree,
delicate thin,
green veil,
which the wind whips and lifts
that the sky shows through.

And the future,
and the past,
seem to converge
at this axis
of trunk rising
like a solid sign of continuity,

branches pointing back
and forwards,
excepting that all is round, surrounding.
And we turn
to not know
forward from return.

Which we realise
is altogether well,
that at times the curtain’s drawn
delicate thin,
and the behind is the eternal thing
peaking through.

Yes,
at the axis
we can pick a branch
and follow through,
no matter which we take,
there are the enduring things –

like veins in a leaf,
and green,
of a hue that can only be described
as new, recurring, promising,
like Spring looks
when the veil’s pulled back.

And blue,
ever changing and encompassing,
as the sky
that spreads its blanket
wide
for catching falls.

Yes, there is a curtain drawn

that we can trust the closing
and the opening,
and the direction,
though sometimes
we might turn
to lose all sense of navigation.

The winds whips,
and lifts
the green leaves to dancing
like living,
moving sprites.
And the sun,

which now has burnished
the leaves gold
at their outer sides,
reminds us
of all the things
surrounding,

though we might not be sure
of forwards from return.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
October 2019


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