Beauty

The teacher says,

“Beauty never possesses a me”.

So turning, poetically, to Wind River Range

And the oblong expanse of clouds

We stagger at the selfless view.

The student asks, with feigned humility,

To account for a chime, the melody,

An uncut emerald, the name of the one you love.

The amethyst at the center of a flame,

Desert homes of Mesa Verde,

A Plumeria, her sweet perfume.

No me in beauty, but in rhyme, metaphor and metonymy?