The air is full of lights, it
Is charged with electric storms.
The bees are buzzing amidst the trumpet
Vines, at night, weightless swarms
Of fireflies flash and disappear.
The artist paints a flower, then praises
The flower. Within its fractal petals,
A series of orange flowers blazes.
There is a pool, the pool has a source,
The water sings, a waterfall,
Then rapids, the froth scintillating,
Across the current, silver glimmers sprawl.
Yaacov David Shulman