Seeing is for the asking

Seeing brims over our things ,storms our teacups, fills anchorages,balconies for a night, sunlit spaces in tall trees ,corners where a mom meets a shadow,a lizard on the wall. Seeing is yours in my words.

Seeing is water not spilling from a child’s hands clasping the glass with both his hands moving feet in slow measured motion or his squatting on the floor drawing feet together to cry ,opening and closing his feet like tentacles,in beach sand on their way back to the sea.

Seeing is yours for my words. Old woman is emitting light ,a camera’s laughing at death.Seeing is her skin’s wrinkled cloud drained of a future rain.

Seeing is a word on this keyboard.


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