matia sucia patos
the three islands to the west, the sunset view
i’ve walked matia and sucia, circumpiscatated patos
watched storm waves wreck in white blasts high against their fixed grit.
they are rock, real, immutable.
yet, looking through seven years of photographs
they are never the same.
sometimes large and close enough to touch, a stone’s throw,
sometimes miniscule at the far edge of the seen universe;
sometimes three distinct entities
like rogue brothers, staking out their own territory and myths
and sometimes merged into a unity
a vague blue mystery of coalescence
and purple and black and violet and grey and yellow and red
and bullish and demure and hard and soft and cold
and seductive and mundane and stunning
the contrasts are more than just the dance of optics
more than just our filtered and quirky perception
it is the ever-changing, ever-absorbing breath of now
in oneness with wind, water, light and yes, our eyes, our mind
not what they are, but what they do
*Copyright 2010 by Luther Allen. This poem appears in The View from Lummi Island.