White On Blue

I think that we are somehow built for happiness.
And after all, we have a universe at our disposal.
I stood upon a hill to scan the sky

And felt a summer’s warmth, though this was barely spring.
A jet went winging whitely by and pulled the sky behind it
As it vanished into blue. Nearby,

A silver glider glistened, loopy in the breeze.
The moon, that wandering satellite, put in a pale appearance.
An ivory butterfly, quite drunk on spring,

Arose and flitted irresponsibly about.
Four soaring spots of white on blue, like pictures where you must
Connect the dots with lines to see the pattern,

White against a blue intangibility
Retreating in the distance, dots connected by the lines
Of space and time. And what a joy it is

To grasp the painted world with eye and mind as one,
To link the concrete dots of vision with the abstract lines
Of thought, see both the outside and the inside

Of existence, join the color and the pattern.
Doubtless further dots remain: our long progressive curve
Extended into blue infinity,

Where stars are white. And someday other galaxies,
When seen from other stars, will shine against that deeper blue
As white as ours does now, and quite as bright.