I search for words

I search for words for earth's mystery
but they, like mercury, slip away,
or lie, too dense, like heavy clay-
what remains are haiku, mere slithers of day-

So...

         a microcosm-
         dewdrop's quivering glisten
         on silvered soft grass

         inevitable-
         the slow fluttering spiral
         of single spent leaf

         o now gaze upon
         this stunning white flowering
         on bare winter's branch

For youth, death and rebirth
these will suffice-
but not for sun, moon or sky,
nor love, hate, fire or ice.