Golden glows behind green parchment
Swaying in the rise and descent
Silent wisps that whisper, “come,”
But disappear once you succumb.
Were you to chase the light, you’d find
The emerald flames were in your mind.
Like dying embers, out they burn
Until next evening, they return,
To cast more shadows on the floor
Like rippling water on the shore.
Though they come back into the glade
It isn’t long before they fade,
Hid by silhouetted serpents,
Weaving temporary pretense
Of an eternal reprise
Which then with summer, also dies.
© Rebecca M. Loomis, 2016
About this poem: This poem depicts something that I’ve wanted to capture for a long time: the mysterious experience when then sun dips just below the treetops before sunset, setting the leaves ablaze in vibrant green like the dying embers of an emerald flame. When you look at it from afar, it moves like reflections on water; but once you enter the woods, the mirage is gone. Just as you can never lay your hands on the thing seen, it’s taken me a long time to grab hold of it in words.