I am changing by increments.
Has my kelly green inched
toward saffron yellow? Am I
thinning into papery skin,
hint of leaf spot in the pinpricks,
sieve for coming winter wind?
Or is my green merely rising
from its springtime jejune lime
into a settled emerald wise,
a thickening velvet supple skin
bending easily in the breeze
under summer morning skies?
Trajectories are hard to see
when on the surface of the line.
That I am moving is clear as now
I look back on once upon a time
and fear, I fear, becoming Judas,
clutching my bag of thirty pieces
but hoping this yet might be Paul,
slow motion falling off my horse
running into an adamant Jesus.
O may this glare that addles sense
be Your passing by. Your voice
the thunder in my troubled sky.