Mono No Aware

by Lauren Scharhag

in the plum tree

a sleeve of tattered snakeskin

which the tufted titmouse will pluck

to line its nest

in the grass below

rabbit bones picked clean

on the back fence

climbing milkweed withers

having exhaled its seeds

the birdbath basin slowly erodes

its stone streaked beneath

years of water

the trunk of the elm

pocked with holes

where the woodpecker feasted

and the chrysalis melts in the rain

like a ghost once it’s been shed

by the Cabbage White

a moment

between seasons’ turnings

always flitting away

like wings

my shadow growing long

as the golden hour succumbs to indigo