The wind scatters the leaves of this tree,
A reminder that you once watched particles scatter,
Looked for signs, and beheld a light of neither day nor night,
But of collisions and sunderings.
You, who could puzzle out the workings of these small things
and use this wind to your advantage on a lake,
Are gone: Your track ends abruptly.
Now we discern your presence by the
Modified trajectories of our lives.