The Eternal Dance of Leaf and Tree

Smaller than a point: I take shape I leap I come out from the veil of the husk, I blossom toward the sun and the moon I twirl my skirt before the light I give kisses I steal kisses from your arm. Whirling I come toward your pure soil I mingle with your essence with your root I take shape again. Smaller than a point: again the longing for measured movements in your arms blossoms in my head: I blossom! No leaf remembers death...