It
is captured in the yellow leaves of a tree becoming.
It
is within
life’s infinite unfolding,
shifting, and morphing
steams and food carts,
car crashes and bomb blasts.
It
shines
in pretty girls and hopeful boys,
on beetle shells and satellites;
the leaves are overflowing
with It.
They are melting into stellar amber beads
of seconds
glimmering with the promise of our golden hours.