we can skiff the earth almost all the mornings, petting a porpoise who peeps.
we can watch our loved one breathing up and down, and adore her while gently she sleeps.
we can skim the deep awaiting a walrus, or watching something larger arise.
or devour canyons and gorges and deserts all with our camera-like eyes.
some jump from planes to see the world zoom, coming at them like flowers from seed-bed.
others scour the skies where volcanoes self-groom, to watch all the blue sulfur they’ve bleeded.
but while we dine on these majesties and blossoms, if while our senses “hook up”,
we never arrive at a port for these “awesomes”, it’s because that we failed to look up.
for a beauty is something, and a scene is sublime, and a waterfall hideout’s quite the offer.
but failing to thank out the Dreamer of these things is the greatest offense to all authors.