The dragon moves
Unlike the wind
That makes the basil wands
Teach the bees,
The cherry leaves
Rhapsodize in time,
The canna dance,
The parsley give
The somber sign of yes;
It doesn't seem to move,
Such poets never do,
Still it poses here
And poses there,
The dusty bricks,
The rusted jar,
With eyes that can't stop seeing,
Saying nothing
For in emptiness
There's the longing
For what these plants
Can't understand,
All that's shaken off
On the road to stillness.
If it weren't the thing
That gives them life,
Perhaps they wouldn't turn
Their nervous limbs for
Something true to mourn,
They'd be motionless too,
As if invisible,
As if the eye of all that saw
Doesn't only look at them.
