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.
I love this imagery, but why is the panorama artless? I don't understand that. I understand, I think, the genius of sheltering life in expiration, and the steadying effect of straw. But isn't the whole thing art? You better show me in person.
ReplyDeleteYou have captured winter.
ReplyDelete