This hour, this moment, this now.
This summer day framed by my window,
it is irreflexive, it stands by itself,
a singular instead of dual object
in the fields of green mathematics.
It is the stillness of time rooted in trees,
time at the green tip of its leaves,
an aura around its summer flowers,
and every flying, singing thing.
This now, this moment, this hour,
resemblance now strangely altered,
though nothing has changed.