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REFRACTION

All at once, it came to me:
My thoughts were flying high,
Endlessly, from sea to sea,
A vision from the sky.

This was home, where I was born,
The mountains and the plains—
Rich soil, from which I was torn,
That courses through my veins.

Here it was, some years ago,
A native voice cried out:
“What thing do the sea winds blow?
“What is this all about?”

Many things, it proved to be—
Some good, some bad—it binds.
It created you and me,
Inhabits all our minds.

We are told the desert sun,
The woodlands and all the rest,
Color-coded have become—
The old “red” and “blue” test.

But, my vision’s eye disproves
Those solid “red-blue” schemes;
As the panorama moves
O’er purple mountain streams.