Sometimes a new name becomes a door
you walk through as it disappears,
absorbed into the lush woods around you.
Follow the sound of the sun
dancing on the flat-topped rock.
Some may try your old name again.
It falls from their lips slowly, a dead leaf;
its use already ended.
Make space for new leaves
to stretch toward the stars,
triangles whose points
tickle the sky green.
From: Lin, Victoria, Letters to Minnehaha Creek, 2020, Unsolicited Press: , p. 90.
Date: 2020
By: Victoria Lin (Peterson-Hilleque) (1971- )
From Troubles of The World 