Glimpses

I could smell four seasons full
As the code spiraled outward
And a cloud perched
On shifting air.
The high sky reflected
In the marsh –
Color so pure
That mere blue
Cannot suffice.
(It is beyond my power
To convey.)
But for bare branches,
Old leaves,
All the dry and decayed,
You might never guess
At November’s waning.

Hadn’t noticed the wind
Until I stood there in it,
Wondering why the water
Was in such a hurry,
And where it was going
Anyway.
Still uplifted,
I’m riding high on these moments –
That permission to eavesdrop
On grander schemes.
I know,
Like the water,
I too will eventually
Bump up against the banks.
But today even this
Only serves to sweeten.

What is this that contains us?
And where are its limits?
Blackbirds flash red wing
On a flyover.
A lone frog sings from the reeds
To two chickadees,
Curiouser than me.
I climb onto these sights and sounds –
Ride the ever-expanding outward.
We injured, struggling things
Watch each other
As sirens sound an alarm.
Coyote ducks for cover,
But I can feel his eyes
Weighing the effort against the flesh.
And we each think –
If only we were more –
Before being taken back in
By subtle magics.

The canvas sleeps
Under wary shroud,
But she shows me
Colors collected on a palette.
It would take a great uprising
Into the blue forever
To catch her full intent.
And even though
The mind plays tricks –
We are still just smallish,
Furry things.
Though we are few,
We are still here.
We must settle for these moments –
Postage-stamp snapshots
Of the progressing masterpiece –
And sometimes,
If we are lucky,
We get to belong to it, too.

Shared for Open Link Night over at the dVerse Poets Pub. 

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