Near View

There is this moment —
a mote of dust
catching rays of sunlight
as it settles to earth.
Yellow coneflowers
have lost their petals —
their dark eyes remain
to hover amidst
all the golden days to come —
soon enough,
these will be
a point of attraction
in the gray.

And we are these moments:
nomads among the well rooted,
grains of sand
eroding in the riverbed,
diminishing
and diminishing
in the great unfolding.

Keep the lens
a moment longer.
Don’t close your eyes
before you can see.

Before you can find
the definition of these words,
and choose among them,
success or despair,
regret or gratitude,
you must find
the point of tension —
that settlement that lies
halfway between
the near view
and the far.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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