Ars Photographica

Perusing fine-art landscapes,
We don't usually savor
The photographic value
Of intervening power 
Lines in the composition,
Anymore than spiderwebs
Hanging across our windows.

They're not so unbeautiful 
In themselves, scalloped contours
At intervals, festooning
And inverting gravity's
Otherwise invisible,
Infinite, cursive rainbows 
That hold all landscapes tethered.

The problem's the camera's 
Honesty that we can't bear.
Our brains elide power lines
From the grandeur of the scene,
Seeing what we know we see,
Instead of everything there.
We'll Photoshop this later.