Yvonne Leach

Up the muscular trunk,
into the artery of the main plank,
and out over the marsh of Cannon Hill pond.
Radiant light sleeps on the silvery tips
of the leaves, still as a whisper.
Settling into a curve, I am
too young to name this pleasure.
So profound is the grass light,
there is even wood light, and the clouds
sing along the edge of sky,
everything alight,
and my heart levitating.