A whispered river of feathers and smudged chalk
Streaks across bright, turquoise suggestions
Without effort
A clean white moon easily sits in grace
Behind black, angular branches of the tree that stretches
Reaching skyward
Crisp light of the morning sun breathes life to this day
In prismatic, golden caresses
Frosted blown-glass and crystals become
Blades of grass in soft surrender
To that warm coaxing
And I stand in awe because, again
I have seen the sky
For the first time
Tara Crown
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/looking-into-a-marble-or-out-of-one/
