The Visitor ~ Bart Wolffe

© Sophia Roberts

In between, where leaves brush the wind

And sun dances playing its eternal game

Yesterday is somewhere, hardly speaks

Of what it knew. Now is the impending motion,

The future moment hinged upon a branch

Rooted to a trunk that has lived for years

In this old ground.

It is I who am the visitor, just passing.

~ Bart Wolffe ~