Fixation — A Poem

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“The Trees” — C.Birde, 11/18

 

     

The occlusion exists,

      persists

resists clear sight.

We look, but do not see.

Focus trained myopically

on that bit,

that sliver,

that comfortable

shard of malleable truth.

      Distortion…

            Contortion…

Fleet glimpses of the whole

caught unexpectedly.

Insects trapped

in self-made amber —

dismissing whole forests

for the isolated

tree.

 

— C.Birde, 11/18

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