there is a gleam, across the valley, a reflection,
I am sure,
a man made surface shiny,
I am sure,
no natural gleam of mica or diamond
blinks and flashes
as if
signaling to me, see, see me, reflect the sun,
seeming so
a sign
a significance I must grant synchronisity,
or ,
thought, what might
this shining thing be?
It is far from me and anchored, I see,
flash,
then flashy flashflash, light of sun,
fractaled -tole painted -fatal tell
light strokes on the future seen as this again,
once
more, the curiosity, was ist das?
A little mirror insisting, see, there see,
there is the sun,
topping the hill behind you, where you are
blind,
where I lack the power to signal a flash back,
for I sit watching,
in the morning shade,
yellow birds and blue, doing what birds do,
orioles and scrub jays,
magpie eyes in me, see that gleam again,
and laugh, I know,
what that is
signaling to me, see, see me, reflect the sun,
seeming so
a sign
of the times, for my report,
- Watch man, what of the morning?
I see a happy birthday balloon,
hung on a wire,
by a wind with a knot function,
naturally anchoring
webs, and threads, and strings and mylar shreds,
dancing from power lines
feeding juice to the drip system
in George's vineyard.
Jul 22, 2021
Jul 22, 2021 at 1:15 PM UTC
there is a gleam, across the valley, a reflection,
I am sure,
a man made surface shiny,
I am sure,
no natural gleam of mica or diamond
blinks and flashes
as if
signaling to me, see, see me, reflect the sun,
seeming so
a sign
a significance I must grant synchronisity,
or ,
thought, what might
this shining thing be?
It is far from me and anchored, I see,
flash,
then flashy flashflash, light of sun,
fractaled -tole painted -fatal tell
light strokes on the future seen as this again,
once
more, the curiosity, was ist das?
A little mirror insisting, see, there see,
there is the sun,
topping the hill behind you, where you are
blind,
where I lack the power to signal a flash back,
for I sit watching,
in the morning shade,
yellow birds and blue, doing what birds do,
orioles and scrub jays,
magpie eyes in me, see that gleam again,
and laugh, I know,
what that is
signaling to me, see, see me, reflect the sun,
seeming so
a sign
of the times, for my report,
- Watch man, what of the morning?
I see a happy birthday balloon,
hung on a wire,
by a wind with a knot function,
naturally anchoring
webs, and threads, and strings and mylar shreds,
dancing from power lines
feeding juice to the drip system
in George's vineyard.
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