that with a flick of my wrist

the trees lose their superimposition

and you find there is no flesh

like that of light,

that crystal and charged metal

man's prism in my hands

makes primsms anew in the air

depth of field and apeture

drawing out gaia anew,

green and yellow and falling

through my fingers 

the sky as fickle and

hard to trap in this

glass game of light and

divine geometry,

the shutter clicks