The oak tree stands so tall behind the house

The oak tree stands so tall behind the house
and reaches its branches into the morning sky
to tell the time. A brown shadow extends
over the pasture, the Sun moves in broad arcs

and at an odd angle. I remember her skin,
the way she moved her lips, the way the time
seemed to not exist. In the yellow light
her body moved like a quiet music played

by gods. The exaggerated colors of the leaves
seemed without limit, it seems like the time moves
like a river or like a cloud, without effort

or meaning. The falling leaves are the minutes
of a clock, branches are arms and the shadows
move like dreams under a mysterious heaven.