A bird, nevermind

leaps, no, but really sings into flight
from the plush carpet of green moss

-- and all the more greener as seen through
my polarized sunglasses! -- psychedelic along

the water’s edge fringed with mad waves
wind-driven, displaced

by dark hulls of passing ships cutting
the choppy water
 
-- but suppose it is really desire which pulls all these
things along?  Pull the intensifying colors from

their source, the crashing waves, the mighty ship
made serene by distance

as the sublime sweetly, patiently waits
for us.