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Perspective
August 1, 2014
My eyes don’t work right.
Solid bands of color
Dissolve into small, shivering parts,
Tiny dancing circles of static.
There is no such thing as smoothness,
Not in this world.
Where smooth sights are broken by oscillation,
Smooth smells by dissipation,
Smooth taste by a swallow,
Smooth sound by a squeak,
Smooth touch by the traction of my fingerprints,
Stopping sliding hands.
Uniformity is an illusion of scale.
If the lens is wide enough,
Everything is flat.
The galaxy thinks the Earth is smooth.
© Cassie H., Carmi, IL
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