Before the invisible bowl
I was balancing
between precarious hands -
a flawless crystal
hemisphere
half filled with rare elixir -
tilted, splashing
marble tiles,
evaporating as I gazed,
I caught a glimpse of
the forest prince,
immobilised by candescent
spheres - complex prisms
multiplying light in rays
and waves and fields -
alone in a stark white
cube of gallery alcove,
stag at bay:
disguised by globes
and dewdrop bubbles,
hide and antler, hoof and haunch,
the frozen glaze of watchful eye
blinded to beautify.
Where is the spongy
sphagnum pile,
scent of heather,
bracken, fern,
spruce and oak and conifer,
earthy notes of balsam,
peat; the dappled
camouflage of fir and birch;
the living water on the tongue
to quench his thirst...