and currents break down to ghosts,
ghosts to molecules, animalcules,
the countless generations of insects, illuminations
prior to embodiment. The wing of an elm seed
acts as a knife, to cut
some small collection from the whole
and spin it round, out over the road,
and up, and back, to ring the elm’s trunk.
She is that seed, and you, brother,
that pocket of air, which did not know itself
until she curled around you, translucent.