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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