Refractions

Great oval suns’ spikes focus when my right eye fixes

on the pattern of waterdrops on the lashes.

I examine it for the first time: puddles

of gasoline, yet spaced out like raindrops.

The other circles are gray, dim, dancing into one another

as the lens shifts.

Of the two stars I can see,

one supernovas, and other other

pulls me eye.

The slithering chain of droplets constrict and release

and before long I pan out,

surveying the masses of plant leaves

under the oppressive light ray.

They assemble their color under the shade, and

a father shouting to his young daughters

beyond the woodpile below echoes up.

The thin stretched skin under my foot

crushes the red pine needles,

and then find the generous moss

on what once were stairs.

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