Look at it this way. Atmospheric differences
Aside, the sun on the suburbs is the same
As the sun on the lake. The beauty of the light
Lies with the light, bathes in the waves, and if
The suburban parking lots and intersections
Dancing their endless vehicular quadrilles don’t
Wear it well, their amazing suburban lawns sure do,
Emerald as Oz in the spring. All morning we drove,
One among those many vehicles roaring and dancing
Through the mountains, the canyons, the ranch lands
Where the camas was blooming great illusory lakes
Of blue, where the giant yellow scarves of balsamroot
Shawled over sprawling green hills. It’s simple to look at
This world, when it’s only the looking we need to find,
Isn’t it? When there’s nothing but gliding and looking
At the light in transit everywhere, the sort of glorious
Morning when the outer wavering arrives with gifts
For the eyes to bear to the voices of the inner ear, the sights
That sound right, like lambs and llamas in blossoming camas.
And then, by sunset, to be where the nearly tame geese
Are chased by giddy girls out for a walk with their parents
After dinner at the outdoor mall’s small Mexican restaurant,
To be in time for the honks and the shrieks, the oversized roars
Of oversized pick-up trucks and motorcycles on the streets,
The golden sun lavishing all the beige, pseudo-stucco walls
With more of the light that wavered in the lake, that was lost
In the narrow canyons, filtered by the forests, echoed
By the flowers, and worshipped by horses rolling on hills,
That very light, is to be the gnats in the mind of an animal
No longer annoyed by the dancing insect angels of its mind,
Bright in the light, rising, haloing an animal calm in the sun.
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