Superior the knowing human glance
that dreams, in lightly jostling verticals,
ideas that make the candelabras dance,
the whitened tips of candle flames that call
to mind a burning icy chalice raised
beneath the sky’s acceptance. Over time
these flowers were led in evolution’s ways
to make their fine survival death-defying.
A blind insensate painter set the pink
so readying the petals for the bees.
In eons’ trials without the need to think,
devised the swaying, stirring fact of trees.
But only we see white-tinged flames that bend,
our seeing, knowing, still, perfection’s end.