In the tall grass along the path’s edge
before the tangled branches
of the elm, the oak, the pine
shut out the light,
sideways and alerted,
raised a moment above the dry grass,
a profile so black
it startled into a shiny indigo
that blinded with stars
sparked from its darkness,
swaying and testing
the hot summer air,
it moved through tall to shorter grass
in waves, liquid beneath the sun,
and on the path glimpses
of a midline expanding round
of amber and gold geometry
patterned brilliantly, slowly sliding
on the warmed earth
and a natural ending
of a translucent gold cone
rising like a sun from its black
starry night.
