The morning is drifting,

into dawning light

and the loving touch

of mist that gathers, gathers …

 

gathers to caress these leaves,

and collect, collect …

 

collect to form drips

that grow and grow …

 

grow to hang, hang …

hang and let go,

 

drop on those below

bounce, dip, and flow,

dancing all through, all through …

 

all through these woods where

invisible fingers tap, tap …

 

tap out a visual tune

I strain to hear.