Where Are The Fields

Where are the fields
that would shift
with color, pieces coming
and going
in an exchange with the sky
and would, of one moment,
call out in echoing cries
as it lifted into the heavens
with a thousand flowing wings.

Who will look upon
that giant wonder
of white animation,
seeming metamorphosis
on that overhead canvas:
in majestic silence they come,
a mighty avalanche
of unfolding creatures and sights
rolling past lingering eyes.

Old memories are the scenes
of innocent beauty.