Up in the sycamore tree, gold and green,
wind shifting the leaves,
the flirting sun transferring
shadows, makes it seem iridescent,
like the scales of a verdant fish, wings
of a japanese beetle,
or some tropical butterfly.
Looking up you will dizzy,
the manic shaking
of a million metallic wings,
fish-scale, leaves against a steady sky
nomadic negatives,
like the frenzied swirling
of some organic kaleidoscope.
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