Textures Of Reality Poem by DM W

I cannot grasp the fullness of these bright moments
As they glide by like wild soaring birds of summer.
O what is the essence of this fresh, spectral light?
Is it a constant dance of energies? Perhaps,
The cold, detached quantum physicists can explain
It to me. Perhaps, the mystics will know via
Their prolonged, patient meditations. I've too much
Of a butterfly mind for that. I would rather
It remained shrouded in a certain mystery.
Although I'm happy to accept established strands
Of knowledge, it seems that poetry, art and dreams
Hint at other hidden textures of reality.