The Underside of A Leaf

Stained glass shimmers in open vine tangles
beneath the gentle folding of the dandelion hill,
caterpillar sacs illumine branches like lanterns.
The breeze made obeisance before your royalty,
azure tapestries furled back into stratus clouds
and the sky opens again its banners like lips.
The sycamore trees cannot teach me their language,
though slow to learn, I translate with your skin
and accept the mysteries of beauty with gratitude.
This circle of moths is our approximate future,
cuttings of bitter gourd will sustain us tonight,
I wear your silver necklace buried in my wrists.