Consider how much we don't see:
The far mountain is a blank;
fog erases the next valley over;
and the dark hands of evening enfold
the houses in the near woods.
A few of the old man's friends
have gathered on the hill to chat
and watch the sky flare tangerine
before the darkness comes.
What's closest is most vivid:
the flexed roots of the trees;
the farmer ignoring the view
as he leads his sagging horse home;
the simple teahouse, lit from within.
The old man has his back to the scene.
He smiles while his friends all look
toward the mountain for an infinity
he sees in their faces.