The Photographer's Dream

A photographer dreamed Of a telephoto lens Capturing light waves From beginning to end. Since time unleashed When the Big Bang leaped And particles began life’s history In swirling clouds he wondered how He might picture a piece of the mystery. Through polished glass converging past Planets, stars and seas Of swirling waves that danced and swayed No less than windswept trees. As he focused his dream glass Where present meets past And depth of field is wide; Where the image is clear and light streaks steer, Far away from the photographer’s eye. With shutter speed set like a fast speed jet Blazing through the blue-white wispy above Turning his wings on the bird that sings And a girl who once stole his love. Racing through time while continuing to climb Higher through the prism of light His finger feathers the button below Capturing the moment in flight. Lingering there in pure mid-air Like a magic carpet in the wind; Until jolted by the sun on its morning run While still dreaming of that telephoto lens. Maybe today, perhaps tomorrow, He’ll capture the illusive the beast; The athlete who strives for the best inside Or the homeless sleeping in the streets. He’ll stop small birds he’s seen and heard With their colorful feathers, breast and crown; And children playing in autumn leaves Scattered on the ground. Weddings and rings, flowers in spring, Butterflies, wistful and bright; Pollinating bees and hives in the trees Or a harvest moon late at night. Meadows and mountains, free flowing fountains Ancient temples in faraway places; Fireworks up high on the 4th of July Olympics and fast car races. But now fully awakened he knows he’s mistaken About the focal length in his dream glass; Lens lust is a photographer’s must But this too, he knows, must pass. Like water flowing in the river And wind passing through thin air; The world he sees through his own eyes Is a wonder beyond compare.