the looking glass
possesses fragments of a view.
surrounding figures and forms
collapse as our fingertips meet.
yet, steady is the scene
encompassing pieces of you.
limbs undulate tenderly
with the slightest breeze.
wildflowers spread their seeds
attempting to gain greater visibility.
such bits linger out of view,
boulders that were planted eons before,
torrential rains that flooded these plains
leaving ridges deep and wide.
yet, this singular slice,
the object of my heart’s deep affection,
is purely the only matter
that requires my line of direction.