Perfectly ordinary stuff asks back, "What lives?"
Russet sheaths play the genius,warming the immersion of straw into metallic water,
sheltering next season's life in their expiration.
Ripples and reflections animate a photograph;
or is it you and I who live into the picture?
Looking again from a spacious point of view
I'm steadied by a prosaic title to the scene.
The straw burns more brightly on the water than the air.
A light wind shimmies mosaics in the mirror
teasing the crescendo of symmetry
while a minute passes in the winter wait of the cattails.
The artless panorama extending to the horizon
composes a vignette for my notice.
It refers to itself in a revelation of light,
and I shift my point of view.
A deep blue dissolves the spirals of straw-beams
fired cordially into the realm of certitude.