Haleakala

The air here is clean, less cluttered. 
I can see further and details emerge 
on the rock face at the crater’s edge
as it ignites in the morning sun like a promise.
Hidden before, now it rises,
as a whale, or an idea that comes 
only when conditions are right.
I think of the stars last night, 
how I could, as if in cinema 3D,
see the depth of the Milky Way
and not just a paint flecked sheet of sky.
I think of how a strange moon rose 
from the horizon in blood-orange 
like the dawn sun, prophesying change. 
I think our mazes of mirrors 
that seem endless, but aren’t.
Can you see any of this? 
Or are you in the lowlands,
gauging the inches to given goals,
surveying your toes,
and gathering all the trinkets?

EDWARD LEES

Edward Lees is an American who lives in London. During the day he works to help the environment and in the evenings he writes poetry. His works have been accepted by journals including Southern Humanities Review, The Common Dispatches, Whale Road Review, Potomac Review, and Anthropocene Poetry Journal.