Poetics - The Mountain Fog.

Azure blue pierced the light,
not of clay or wood seen so bright.

Bringing home its mountain lore,
the fog that rests as ever more.

Where trees diverge upon the path,
until rebuked by fearless wrath.

Raspberries throb in disbelief,
to magnify dreams in every leaf.

With sigh I hear the birds debark,
lingering before the open spark.

What brought the kindled ox to feet,
robbing stone and wood of heat?

Was unquestioned logic drunk by all,
to split the DNA before the fall?

Lurking near the shimmering cask,
strangeness unveiled a hidden mask.

What stealth rests upon the ridge,
betraying little that remains a bridge?

Transversing frozen woods by night,
catching glimpses of perilous flight.

A speeding shaft through brush afar,
sent the heavens a luminous star.

Certain was far from who was there,
with none to ponder or possibly care.

What thrill of nature does one obey,
slave to conscience or mirth in the hay?

Thought deceives viewing the sight,
graying the flicker which gives the light.