Malinda Poetry: Some texts are made of leaves*

They are flipped with the fingers of the eye

unwet and wet

read with care by those conversant

with the language

of colour, texture and passing

and passed over too

for there are preferred texts

and ones tossed aside

for later and never;

but leaves

come from dust and to dust they go

without complaint

through gaze and ignoring;

they conspire with sun, shade and wind

wear the garments of the day’s seasonality

without shout, let us repeat

but whisper

the eternal verities: ‘birth, decay, death’

all laid out in leaf-texts

that need no words,

not even these.

Malinda Poetry