“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label limit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label limit. Show all posts
Saturday, February 6, 2016
Scapeland
Limited by a point
in view
doesn't mean there are no
obvious clues sticking out.
We have a nose
for things
that reek
and ears to hear
when something rings true.
The horizon made crisp
by Januarys cold shoulder
brittle colors crack
under depth perception
all is in arcs
electrically
carried through thick-
space, this line is drawn
between the backdrop mountains
painted over the sky-aglow
colors like no others
demonstrating distance
with tonality.
-hummmmm-
Light blurred into white
sights set on time-lapse
of the tidal motion
we may be slow to know
the ripple can re-ripple
reacting unpredictable
but then, this happens
when we don't wave back.
Image By Rowan, Dick, Photographer (NARA record: 2406259) (U.S. National Archives and Records Administration) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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