His Smile

His Smile

His eye was an oak leaf
dried, fallen and blown into place.
His smile the shadow of a blade of grass
that chuckled when the wind blew.
He halved himself with the edge of nature
camouflaged by time of day.
His face found its shape by shadows
an afternoon sun left
as it journeyed beyond trees and mountains.
His hair was a tuft of rye grass,
grown over the edge to finger draw
a shadow image against the walk.

A tiny ant ran aimlessly, back and forth
climbing twigs without stopping for balance
It crossed his eye then disappeared
in a grass jungle.
All he could do is smile,
happy to be noticed,
happy to be drawn by an afternoon sun
and remembered by a poem.