I’m dumb to leaves and prairie grass;
a million colors can’t be named.
Wind conspires with shifting light
to humble language, exult sight.
I watched a bunting taking flight
from black to blue turn as I looked.
A list of shades between the hues
would burst the bindings of a book.
A spectrum spanned, a moment took,
a world encompassed in a blink
and all I ever hoped to know
vanished when I stopped to think.
Interesting observations here, Marc.
Love where you’re going with this poem. And
the final S concludes it so perfectly… all we need isn’t
what we know, it’s what’s mingled in the senses.
Two ‘ings’ here:
I watched a bunting taking flight
maybe
I watched a bunting take flight
Enjoyed Marc. I read the limitations of language/thought in the experience and the closure of that experience when thought clicks in. I like the scaffolding of rhyme and meter, variations where felt appropriate, and assonance threads in the soundscape.
Phil
The ending is great. How thinking soils the experience. I like how s1&2 draws the reader into a lyrical hypnosis and s4 drops the mic. Good stuff Marc.