In the breeze of a new spring dawn,
a petal falls from the cassia tree—
freed from its flower, gold as the sun,
its moment arrived, its bondage done—
it drifts in silence, soft and free.
Nature reckons with numbers and sums,
while I stand still in the gentle breeze:
the phoebes arrived, the irises come,
a season is ending that’s just begun,
the garden’s beauty is balanced by one
petal that fell from the cassia tree.
And by that accounting, it’s clear to me
that I share the selfsame ebb and flow—
like flowers that separate, leaving the tree,
and seasons that cycle endlessly,
a force is gradually changing in me …
petal by petal, the older I grow.
