Comments about Diane Hine
Photons lacerate the air in waves of ev'ry hue,
plunging through successfully except for burning blue.
Motes of dust and water drops play cricket with blue balls,
weaving veils of endless blue in vast concentric shawls.
When the rays are vertical they drill through skin and bone,
drain all sheen from vibrant green, steal water from dry stone.
Then all life is forced to heed light's power to subdue.
The mantle of the victor is a fire of flaming blue.