An Eye in Reverse
eyes realigned through one-eighty
rebears me into the negative imprint of all
that is known to fly-pocked Trompe l'oeil life
Where, vase-mounted,
time passes within a single frame.
Breathing in the new sky -
a sky a deep soft colour alien to
his familiar pale relative.
Course as tobacco
rich as cold streams
velvety as the mole
who struggles to fly
in the earthen sky:
in another word - 'silk zepelin'
Beetles flutter as birds do in their 'below'
Chirupping by black spines of legs.
Here long worms traverse the loam, solid sliding
rain drops, blind as the 'sky' swalowing their pasage 'down'.
A sky which only feels heat-up and cold-down
for dawn and dusk. And all that exists below
it's silent majesty swings softly in inconstant gases,
yearning with a hopeless stretch to reach off...
...and out to the cosmos
...before coming back to ground and home
in the long midnighted 'sky' where fluid passes unseen
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