Blessed with ordinary sight, I don’t need

an embellished explanation of sky.

I can see there are clouds, or there are none.

True, some firmament — bottomless-blue,

cerulean — defies description; so

humbled I’ll lower my gaze, and notice

how surfaces mimic: Iridescent

dragons loop around my half-pound line —

pulled taut through watery cumuli.  I float

my ordinary oars away, obliged

to drift more muted hues, and wait

for something deeper to strike.

—

Allen M. Weber lives in Hampton, Virginia with his wife and their three sons. He is the winner of the 2011 Edgar Allan Poe Memorial Prize.  His poems have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, most recently in Miller’s Pond, Fickle Muses, and in the Poet’s Domain, The Burning of the Leaves.