by Gideon Burton
The retina cannot retain the flow,
the fuchsia-ochre-teal-vermillion millions,
the torqued geometries, the crystal's cracks,
the holy heights or blurry-blotched civilians.
And even if some fragments loosen, lift
and shift and warp, released by dreaming's drift,
the pupils widen in that hollow rift,
and weave fresh fantoms; such is vision's thrift.
Too many prophets got the scene they begged.
"Behold": be old before the awe subsides,
the freight of light, not light, and razor-edged.
It can't contract, not once the vision's wide.
The strobe and stroke of photons stains and twists.
To see: to sink in vistas void of mists.
Photo: flickr - Robert D Bruce