The Late Ambassadorial Light Thomas Lux

Light reaches through a leaf

and that light, diminished, passes through

another leaf,

and another, down

to the lawn beneath.

Green, green, the high grass shivers.

Water over a stone, and bees,

bees around the flowers, deep-tiered beds

of them, yellows and golds and reds.

Saw-blade ferns feather in the breeze.

And, just as a cloud’s corner

catches the sun, a tiny glint in the garden -- the milk

of a broken stalk? A lion’s tooth?

Or might that be the delicate labia

of an orchid?