Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Morning Visions

Morning Visions

Like a river glimmering at morning
memory flows softly.

The road ends abruptly,
pavement dissolving into primal mire.

There is no sky,
no hard, limiting blue;
only white mist sinking deeply
into indefinite winter fields,
the trees infinitely rising,
the broken land darkly waiting.


Vagrant fog bursts
to metallic blue light
dirty grey, pierced
by the unforgiving sun,
by the harsh, perfect sky.


California is a sharp line,
the western horizon, unrelenting, pure,
absolute blue
against the unmistakable edge

while in the east
clouds hover —
bright, deadly rocks

over eroding hills.

(20 July 2016)

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