Los Ojos Verdes

Static images are entrenched into my neural bank The vibrations shift the view of the greatroom Tree trunks become shifty legs And I'm off again Soaring with the unheralded wisps of forgotten letters And the dust clouds of fallen steeples The shaman in the sagebrush moves with lightning precision Leaving behind only the fluttering of air Nothing sacrosanct to shelf or levitate Only the knowledge of existence to ponder The sun has ejected a spiral solar flare That licks a polarized face And while taking it all in I see the inner workings of the atoms within the eye of the beholder