Trees and Sun

I want to tell you about the
waning sun and the
bushels of green leaves and
the dappled sunlight. God,
how I love dappled sunlight.
How I wish I could dapple
my mind, the dark parts of me.
There are so many, too many
dark parts. I take life hard.
The sun lowers, dropping
its belly behind the trees, and the
trees, still green, will
change soon. But I can’t tell
you about green leaves
or sunlight tossed on the
blacktop like handfuls of
gold coins and it’s silly
for me to try and a waste
of time really. So instead, 
I will wish you a squiggle
of your own poem in
your own head, which is
a lovely place, I trust, even
if it’s a dark place like mine. I
wish you a squiggle of
a poem when you see 
green leaves with your eyes,
from your window, and you see the sun
lowering and above all things
I wish you a dappled soul
and if you don’t know what 
that means, it’s okay. And
if you don’t care what it means,
it’s okay. If you have different
words for it, it’s okay. But my wish 
for you, which is something I own
because it is a wish I am making,
is a dappled soul.

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