Tension held silence
loomed to ceiling's shadow
in which I stand, a mute
pillar in startled reverence;
simple fluid beauty,
translucent,
ethereal,
revealed.
My finger's cool pressure,
resisted against glass cylinder;
tips, an aura of violet-white
graced at contained contact.
Billowed parasols emote
perfection, concave, convex,
rise to fall, to rise.
Manifest dream of Divinity,
art in flow of motion
and form.
Fronds trail sore sting
in thought, hard borne.
These creatures need no light
to be, I need illumination
to see a small glory;
what is always here.
-----------------------------
For MS, your reach stretched beyond the material.
