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| [The False Mirror -by MAGRITE Rene´- 1928] |
Straining keenness,
Twisting the lens of my mind's eye -
Everything requires focus and
Constant cranking
Making (one hopes)
A clear picture of things.
For a girl whose head is
Buried high in the clouds,
I find it a difficult task -
To be messing with scope
To take courage for aperture
Waiting, open
For the pouring in of
Natural light.
What do I do with what I discover?
For example,
A pair of eyes is always a beauty
Worth the bravery required
To really look into...
But you pay a price,
You have to give
In order to get.
In order to see.
With so much peripheral movement,
All this running around -
Everything seems a blur.
I suppose I need to stop more often.
And quit hustling about, like
A mercenary in the chase.
This dimmed approach reveals, at brightest,
Monet-like impressions
In which decisions are made
Only by my fuzzy self-centered conclusions.
I might as well be running in the pitch.
I suppose a persistent, unabashed
Cranking, stopping, searching, opening up
Making crisp what is before me,
Is an adventure worth taking.
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