In an Ocean of Grass I

In a skiff gently tethered to reeds and sedge,
while sketching dwarf cypress, heron, and ibis'
white downward slide, I saw rising from the edge
of Cape Sable's horizon, arching rainbow's iris

descend. Late August colors of rain switched on
in twisted bright shafts of beaming sun, lifting
whipped peaks to heaped heights of piled sky upon
sun's setting after glow, standing still. Sifting

pure rose covered mist through frosted-gray and blue-
white streamers adrift with scuffled blown tails
dragging silver bright tendrils of light through
sheets of snowy-white alto-cumulus veils.

Hammered bronze boundaries seemed roiling between
that panoply of pierced Gulf sky, with a trace,
too distant perhaps, or surreal to be seen,
of miniature shreds of ice-green outer space.

Clouds swollen with flame shut down by the rain
poured curtains of rainbows drained from under
curved clusters of molten glass, spreading the stain
across the forgotten sun. Crashing thunder

drummed out every sound, splitting columns of spray
into spirals of wind spilling from cracked veins
opened in scars of jagged lead. As pale gray
evening shades closed on liquid counterpanes

over rock and rim, flooding for eventide,
I seemed balanced between a pelagic sea
of grass and shadows cast alongside,
while passing through in preludes of lost memory.