I sit beneath the Sun, the moving shade

I sit beneath the Sun, the moving shade
makes me a gnomon tracking the degree
of inclination. Like a plant I am made
to cast a shadow, like the stretching tree
I extend in the world. The water oak
is unidentified, the cows nurse calves
beside canals. The sky above is streaked
with cirrus clouds and a lone falling leaf
spins to the ground. From a single acorn
this canopy rises, the small white flowers
dance in the spring air. I was not born
to move and speak, but born to simply lower
my self before her. I am the seed within
the soil before the growth can begin.