the spectrum pared away to leave only blue to dance with electrons
in the pure depths
but it could not be known
the blue brighter than Chartres
that drew the binocular gaze
irresistible but hard to see
the blue that stared back like the eye of some god
through the long lenses of the pilgrims
who climbed the lip of splintered rock to find
below the pointing pines a new angle on perfection
while the still blue entered to search among places
deeper than the lake
to sear with what lay beyond camera capture
(Ira's poem on a view that left me speechless)



