Right: rumpled glints and brief translucent curls: teal, navy, and true aquamarine, crisped with bubbling white. A wincing stretch of broken silver stretches towards its bright eye refusal beyond which lie long flat cut-outs, lavender against the yellowing-blue sky. Over all: the splash-rustle roar, and clunk of rolling stones soaking hard with salt; the flimsy heat teased by the icy breeze.
And left: rocky outcrops fold beneath the weight of green and rise, crevassed, curved, and chasmed, sharp with shadow and flanked with light, and rise, but still canít hide the darker fiercer rise behind, slopes smoothed with distance, stabbed with the dark green stalagmites of cypresses, and up to lose their tips in white: snow or barren rock, into the clouds, where maybe Zeus still lives, and we can shake our fists at the sky with meaning Ė or flirt with swans. But over all, framing our view of the gods, the vines spread ragged branches and splash their early green against the sky.
Between: the painted tableís smeared with sand from the Sahara, its curls and dots as messy and bright as life, and bubbles impossibly rise through a long gold column, which throws a long shadow, long as evenings, long as leaves, and over all, this slanting sharp light.
Crumpled blues cut light
which mountains drink Ė between them,
gold is liquid.
Thanks to Writers' Digest for the prompt to write a view poem, which reminded me that haibun exist as a form!
See the new NaPoWriMo poems as they pop up, complete with pics of the handwritten drafts, natter to me, and help me with titles for them, via whatever social media you call home:
All my poems on this site are now #FreeForPoets to play with, to write hybrid forms such as glosas, coupling poems, golden shovels, acrostics, centos, and erasures. Full permissions here: #FreeForPoets.