Light changes slowly with subtle words
such as cautious and determinedly,
marking a demarcation line across the horizon,
delineating between day and night
taking over the sky. The drakes in the wetlands
are excited by the transformation.
Above, in daylight, you can see the moon
like a white wafer. Perception only amazes
the participant who never notices
the daily occurrences with minor variations.
What are different are the blending shades,
the clouds wheeling like hawks, the way light
haunches on the edge while day begins or ends.
There is always this anticipation of the differences,
and the end results are that our expectations are met —
not in color, or uncertain times for the transfers,
but in the way no two days begin or end the same.
Thousands of years, the universe has palpitated,
expanded and contracted like a heart,
with such restlessness, and we barely notice
what is plain to the eye: the universe is constant
and changeable. We barely break the surface
of observation and when we do, we take for granted
the drakes will migrate when marshes are ice tinged,
and the drakes will return when spring returns,
never considering it might be otherwise.
Was it steadfast for the apricot
to remain on a tree
and be covered by early snow?