Optics

a runaway truck barrels through an intersection nobody is there to be astonished apprehension hovers over uncertainty a cat hugs a dead bird to its breast the image curls inward like a snail shell - closed eyes are still looking the image still curling a condor perches on a mailbox. this cannot be not here but elsewhere it happens everyday she takes a selfie behind her people fall out of a plane her grin gawps grows wider cameras whirl optics need say nothing - when the mouths open onlookers are captured in echoing caves