And so was I also taught: the branch
where an invisible bird

surveys the landscape, the flat
horizon toward which,

supposedly, everything aspires.
All things defined,

reducible to a few
quick strokes to show again

the mechanism beneath,
the fatalism which determines

where they go. Here too
on the table:

nothing but a bowl,
a cup; from where the worm

looks up, the shadow and smudge,
the last figs given by the tree.

One Reply to “Perspective”

  1. Leaves belong to summer as shells do to tortoises
    they are fate accompanying fruit to the table
    listing, matting, beckoning, warm simple glory
    Invariably winter will brown in their absence
    put butter in a hot skillet, observe the effect

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