I can’t not look, not
stop to examine the flesh
of a new leaf, the curvaceous
cut delineating two points
opposite a tip, a lovely
arrow
pointing at its neighbor.
There’s
my friend resting
against my brother’s
shoulder.
And another and another,
happy to have made it through
cold winds and slicing blades
skimming across thick ice.
Surely with spring returning,
they’re happy, unfurling their
striated flesh: green, yellow,
purple and orange.
I take out my camera and
shoot, though photos of leaves
crowd my computer—but who
can ignore the pad's procession
Filling in the pond, covering
shimmering water in thick leaves,
stems, and eventually waxy yellow
flowers sparkling like the sun.
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