The straight-stemmed turbines
are tattletales,
telling all about the stealthy
thief sneaking overhead.
With no clouds in the sky,
the wind could slip
out over the treetops,
and no one would know.
But the turbines turn,
slow as Taiji titans,
letting no movement
go untaxed.
In the wee hours,
The city becomes a blur
Of color and motion,
But the moon
Is the moon
Is the moon.
clouds drift upon
mirror clear waters;
dead tree stillness.
the flower bobs
on its long, stiff stem.
the sage is unmoved.
the flowing river
looks still as glass, until
fallen leaf ripples.
with taut anchor line, the fisherman's boat looks still in flowing waters.
With lazy mazy motion the fish slips through its watery world. With no apparent purpose but to trace out a route through dreamland.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 