On a Photograph by Murakami Kazunori

There are stalk high trees 

behind the home 

with slanted roof and a silver 

whispery tree also 

taller than the home in front 

springing from a planter of stones. 

The color of the tree is the color of light. 

The colors of the tree trunks showcase sunlight. 

I hear the photograph saying something 

in language not yet invented. 

Inverted in my mind is the soundless 

hour of the day. 

I notice what appears a chair. 

I am noticing windows leading into the home. 

I am sensing absent snow, the principally green yard. 

No matter how high I look up, the trees take hold. 

The green and silver trees.