I watch my life pass through a
telescope
mirrors and mirrors playing with
distance.
Serrated edges of formative hope
outside the bounds of detail
resistance.
Passing away vision to
microscopes
magnifying the miniscule
gearworks
grand as sky, dust becoming isotopes.
What time could it be if time
only lurks?
Firm beliefs and steady motion
reveals
binoculars’ forays to the
expanse.
I couldn’t explain the way seeing
feels
other than the dust, the river by
chance.
Optics support souls to see the
obscure,
wide vision structures uphold the
demure.
-Grant Durando
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