Beauty

I met a beautiful mind once, and I asked him to teach me how to see.
He laughed and took my hand, singing "Silly girl, you don't need eyes to find beauty."
After naming a hue for the shades of the sun, we took quarters and dimes to leave for a store across town.
We sat on the bus for a time,
Confronting our awkwardness with deliberate eye contact and the occasional brush of the tip of the smallest finger on each other's hands.
I asked him, "What do you see?" when I caught his eyes drifting to the window on the right.
And he answered "I see the trees breathe on the side of mountains when storms brew in the sky."
I made a face, as though bemused (And certain that I was), then I watched aside this thinking man and smiled at what I saw.
I spied the crumbling towers of trees and things that contrasted porcelain against the green.
From there came the ravens in flocks and armies to quarrel with an eagle's nested kingdom.
Between the sheets of stone and silt, water fell like quartz between coal and they glimmered, to me, something like the snow drops in spring.

But still, no waltzing or wispy release from this rigid giant (And by then the rain and stopped) so I sighed in defeat, despite what I'd caught, this glimpse of brilliance that could be simple to eyes that appreciate.

Until today I was rather puzzled, and watched these peeks between bike rides and summertime strolls.

But it caught my eye only through a sleepy shift on the back of that very bus, where it stopped to transfer by the bay.

And I thought "Now I see, to see beauty, one should not try."