Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?

Just So; In Light

"The one who came from farthest to my lodge, through deepest snows and most dismal tempests, was a poet. A farmer, a hunter, a soldier, a reporter, even a philosopher, may be daunted; but nothing can deter a poet, for he is actuated by pure love"--Thoreau.

It's about a shift
in point of view
he says, a slight raising
of the veil, an angle turned,
just so, in light,
as to reflect what lies behind,
beneath, inside.

Inflections of the souls of things
--the soul of things--
he corrects, as if he and I and
the walls are all composed
of the same thing--
Holy--something inside, beneath,
behind--
He's right, this poet with me softly.

Plow it all under, release the shine.
--no, what's apparent's just fine,
every mundane bit divine,
you and me, yours and mine.