Counterpoint

Swirling like a maple seedling

fan which swirls in arcs

far from the shading tree,

with wrist in hand

the euphony of counterpoint

continues outward on –

the melody of two uniting in the dance of once –

an auger in the earth of time,

in air, the spare

and delicately spinning seed

at last alights and roots

in memory’s loam.

-Dennis Smith