by Gideon Burton
I am about to reason through the strands
of cooling color robing warm the sky,
and I will question how the mist withstands
translucence as it toys with gravity.
You see, the syllogisms fizzle, damp
as dew along the morning's borders. Mark
the limp equations guessing how the lamp
of dawn will animate the valley, stark
with lumens, wan with wattage, missing all
the galvanizing radiation sprayed
in gushing luminescent waterfalls
across the startled prairies on display.
If only I could seize the airy seas
of atmosphere where breathe the waking trees.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Image: flickr - StewBl@ck