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Bloodstream
By Paul Cameron Brown
Camping out, a miraculous thing happened.
The kaleidoscope of vision was focused on a precipice,
caught endangered water about to fall
under microscopic attention.
Moisture was shortlived; so, too, congealed lava sheets
& bedrock over which the water flowed.
The cabin in the distance seemed prisoner to mist
while a rainbow gathered its wits for the next performance.
Nowhere did leaves intrude though a fly made
headway up a glass pane
embedded in wood like antidiluvian plants have been
known to seek amber.
In their chorus, other flies droned then ran up & down the ledge.
In the iate sunshine of the day, a bastardized vision of dirt farmers,
pioneers imprisoned in similar toil.
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