What the Mind's Eye Sees
Letters congeal, to words.
Words anneal to sentences,
which tell a story,
painted as images,
imagined in the mind's eye,
trying to emulate what
the eye sees briefly,
on the see-saw.
A glint of sunlight,
caught slanted and sharp
on windowpane reflected,
stabbed in pain
with shad of glass.
The edges of a leaf
curl up, roll inward.
Rust-red throws of dying,
shriveling in sun, drying.
A flash of white
a bird's wing,
cutting the sky blue,
with knife
slash streak.
A thin line of snaky smoke
curls up from the lakeside,
as syrupy ripples
caress the still water,
the breeze dozes momentarily,
distracted, quelled asleep
by calmness and quietude.
Leaves shiver,
as dawn wind awakens
with a yawn, cough and sigh.
The leaf's veins and blade
tremble, dew silvered
readying for the vane fight ahead.
A cat, frozen mid-step,
paws paused, on hold,
its yellow eyes
locked frozen with yours,
neither dares to move.
Raindrops one and all,
fall, spit, splat on windowpane
painting tiny sparkling reflections,
before the scene is overdubbed
with rivulets descending
gathering drops in flows
of colorless lymph leaching.
The eyes and mind catch it all:
snap-shot fragments,
images and thoughts,
scenery and words,
held for a moment,
in a blink or two
in the mind's eye,
for perception,
contemplation,
then gone.
Copyright ©
John Anderson
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