Diamonds of Many Facets
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Molasses summers break the sun,
chase frost to sheltered shade;
retreating youthful hearts
feel the cold upon them laid.
Seeing is not believing.
Believing is believing.
Seeing is drinking pictures.
poured from a pitcher of age.
Perception, a room in which we live.
Size dictated by histories scope,
furnished with experience and hope.
We trees, with warts of sap all bleeding;
a cataloged roughness of calculated measure.
Water, wet, exploding sideways; blessed and tested
in perfect tattooed resonance.
Piece of glass or perfect pebble,
silken grass or patch of stubble.
Dandelion seed blown free
to float amongst the fruit
of every tree.
Every word we speak is golden.
Everything we do is rare.
Over there.
Always over there.
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2020
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