Imagine how a ripple-ridden sheet of water
Captures the grey of endless clouds
But mixes it with the brilliance of a hidden sun
To paint the asphalt a reflective silver.
It is through the quiet alchemy of this mirror
That I can see the souls of the trees
Along the street:
The twigs, branches, limbs
That split out around the trunk,
Tending upwards,
Blur into a brown-green cloud
That, halo-like, marks their divinity.
The halos wiggle a little and retreat
As a car rolls over them
And the rain starts to fall harder
But the act of exiting only moves them
Nearer to my heart than to my eyes.