Saturday
It feels like a Saturday
The sun running its fingers through the empty trees,
A man with Vatican arms trying to capture a child.
The ground still spotted
With pools from the previous rain,
Reflecting what’s left of autumn leaves.
It’s strange to think that what’s closest to the sun
Is most difficult to see,
Like leering into a spotlight,
Only with distance can the individual parts,
That comprise the landscape,
Be fully observed.
