upon further refraction
that piece of golden
sea we saw smeared
itself with a pink sheen.
language, our tour
guide, narrated
the event with syllables
marinated in purples,
blues, yellows, grays.
as such, the sighting,
a constant birthing
of scene, seemed all
the more profound for
having nothing to do
with our seeing. still,
sacredly we saw the sea.
hans ostrom 2021
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