In the Play of Light

Now moving into the garden where pools
And the little thrush wetting its wings
In the rippling water while sounds of the street
Fly over the walls and the bees sprouting color
From flower to flower is still
As the air: one image into a bubble
Contained in the matrix of bubbles reflecting
The froth of a whiteness
Boiling over, bubble
Of the world in the bubble that watches
The little bird tinkling its leaves.