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
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