Hues of color lay

Purple to orange

Does it know to slow

Among the ferns below?

Does it learn to stay back 

Or heed the line?

What can do without its light

Without its shine?

Hand to brow

Squinted eyes

Tops felt but unseen

But soft wind comes, and the glimmer starts

Time slows, mottled light flows

In the grove of dappled light

-Laura Van Moorleghem Poetry