The Late Ambassadorial Light
Light reaches through a leaf
and that light, diminished, passes through
and another, down
to the lawn beneath.
Green, green, the high grass shivers.
Water over a stone, and bees,
bees around the flowers, deep-tiered beds
of them, yellows and golds and reds.
Saw-blade ferns feather in the breeze.
And, just as a cloud’s corner
catches the sun, a tiny glint in the garden–the milk
of a broken stalk? A lion’s tooth?
Or might that be the delicate labia
of an orchid?
– Thomas Lux