Mirage
Crisp against the blue, blue sky
my landscape rises, confident
and smug into my soul until
it reaches where I smile.
A little while ago I only
lived within its comely buildings,
fit myself to shapely spaces,
places I could be.
That was all before I spied
the crisp, crisp edges, 3D-painted
whimsical across the sky
drawn by my own hand.
And I laid back my head and laughed
and sighed my answer, yes I do
participate and re-create
my constant dream of life.
Not like southern shimmering
seen vaguely as mirage,
softened edges, cadjoling,
lolling toward old age;
Northen skies are bold and brash.
trompe l'oeil to be believed
in living color, so relieved
to recognize the pact. In fact,
To flash this crystal brush, and learn
its colors from my home of choice,
and steep my voice in soaring spheres,
and sing again of joy.
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