The air cools and the leaves of the trees lift
In the rising wind.
The clouded sky casts no shadows
But gives the light an almost luminous clarity.
I look across the yard, past the trees
And the old wire fence
To the rusted tin shed across the alley.
Barren branches of a pin oak tree
Scratch across its roof as the wind grows.
The neither red nor pink blossoms
Of an untamed Japonica
Float in the air in front of the rusted shed
And glow in the unusual light.