Pressure-born fireclouds of sight. <br />A dark fading blaze of color <br />As the retina recharges. <br />A tiny ringing of hair strands near the ear. <br /> <br />The kite, with the flag of St George for a tail, <br />Floats a mile above the Appalachian Piedmont. <br />There is laughter from the porch in the gathering dusk, <br />They are speaking of Duchamp's love gasoline. <br /> <br />The past is placid, a preparation complete, <br />The future delightfully indistinct. <br /> <br />Fireflies dance in the valley, <br />Over the rushes by the stream. <br />A Mockingbird echoes a Nightingale's song, <br />In ever more distant variations.<br /><br />Stewart McKenzie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/landscape-01-new-world/
