Aspen leaves flip and flash
waking the glass-covered wall behind;
dark when my mind pauses,
bright when my mind stirs.

What is genuine, true? Tell me,
when you flip and flash
and the wall behind you holds
its light like a mountain on fire?

My mind is ignored, perhaps
except for this one aspen
that kindly flips and flashes
and wanders along with me

persuades the wall behind it
to concede, bend,
forget the mountains,
use the fire as I will.