Dusk Greeting
Robert Lee Kendrick

Day husks fall between trees,  
slicing the trail into amber,  
shadow: falling acorn glowing   
and dun, rot-mottled dirt   
glinting like water, pitting  
like rock; each forest inch  
shucked.  My counterbalancing  
arms and legs, chest and back  
striped as if failing sun prepares  
to pull jade vein from pink sinew,  
red marrow from bone;  
would it find wabi in loosening  
skin, white scar patina? Sabi in fault 
lines of flesh? So little unchanged  
since birth: the brain's neuron bundle,  
heart's stronger half -- the eye's black   
core, where two currents fold  
in and out, mosaic and marble  
flux: time lapse's matte,   
first sight's dizzying gloss. 

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