The sun is everything.
A dew drop on a stem of grass
hangs for an hour, is reabsorbed.
A blossom buds, blooms, catches the wind.
A butterfly flits from flower to flower,
its short life measured in nectar.
The sun is the one constant feature,
the seasonal symbol
for sowing and reaping.
The length of the day,
nature’s queue for producing,
for storing seed and shedding.
God is everything.
Dew upon a stem of grass,
water vapour condensed to a drop.
How we adhere
as transparent bubbles,
almost overblown,
until evaporating,
returning to the whole.
And hang on—
Autumn leaves whipped by wind,
breaking down to mulch.
Ache to sing,
as cicadas
to the breadth of their days.
While God
is the one constant source,
reservoir of life,
from which our breath is conceived,
birthed, given forth,
returned.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
August 2023
All that is human slips away;
everything was mere husk.
All that is left, indivisible,
is birdsong and dusk.
—Varlam Shalamov, All that is Human,
Penguin Book of Russian Poetry
