Photo (Op/tative) Synthesis

The general increase in green

accords in me

with a growing and specific gravity

about — it hopes —

to be undone like a bud.

What kind of   leaf

or the existence of  bugs

or the always later rumor

of   ravishment by wind or water

don’t interest me.

Sun does.

Come close.

Come slow.

And look me again in the eyes

as you do.