But look at the yellows and greens of the leaves

        the wet air comes as a surprise

On a good night, branches dance

        like they’ve got diamonds on naked arms

Age should burn among the waving trees

        and I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide

Welling and swelling my voice

        like a flying squirrel,

        I push against the dying

White slugs are buried in loam

        spring through their words

Undulating they sing the sun

        they do not stop like quiet moons

I am learning to dance in green sleeves

        I might learn to be Peter Pan

As a prayer

        I’ll rise with certainty of tides

Professor Eddie Tay // Department of English