The Bluest Eye

In the mountains we scaled a green caldera 
Filled with the timber of bygone eras, 
Yet still young enough not to have witnessed 
The fiercest eruption on in the west’s short history. 
Over the edge we came, skirting a circular sinkhole 
That cradles the bluest lake we ever saw. 
Out in the middle stood a lonely island 
With nothing on it save the seeds of isolation.  
We drove around the lake's perimeter,  
Taking in rocky vistas tinted with emerald slopes, 
Watching the water reflect the mountains and the sky  
Like some giant eye in the earth's body.