roots broken into shrunk wrapped bubbles
harvesting water from the pool of a half-evaporated puddle
my eyes, my skin take in the view through the lense of a partially shed tear…
tearing my gaze from that misshapen tree
I happen upon a clod of earth, no bread, no paper
its form calling my attention to its ambiguous identity
If I were not wearing glasses, I would bend to touch, to hold
a sculpture, preciously carved, intricate
when touched covered with slime or mold
hastily dropped, its beauty lost when rejected
the illusion of beauty remains real
within a crystalized instant
clairvoyance lost
blindness created
by the remembered image of the known
unknown
in a brilliant flash of imagination
adamevenevenadam 