Under an alphabet of clouds,
earth's sweet breviary.
We launch paper boats
in light beam and shadow.
Skilled at turning, able
as elephants feeling
the cold bones. Fumbling leaves
on their junket to nowhere
have their place
in the story
of days' steady grace.

When you leave,
the grass will cover
my eyes. And under my eyelids,
dark orchids and wild
grapes climbing.
The air will stir in its shroud.