In lazy rain, slow snow,
rust begins . . .
evidence passing.
Just now
I am standing where, months ago,
acorns fell on me like rain.
In unwounded wonder, I now
see slow cars make scars
in snowed streets –
passing.
Everything matters for a while.
Spend it.
Testify
like a song sung once,
all at once,
slow as rain
or lazy snow passing.
Our fast eyes-ear,
sometimes
hear
seasons
passing,
melting away
one nut at a time.
