When was my perception
confined in an obsession with
industrialization?
Gazing on a photograph,
on the beauty of stillwater pressed
to the underside of a lily,
on the dappled light picking its pockets
of damp and dry across the earth,
on the satisfactory composition of the
pine cones.
Gazing, my mindÂ
conjures an image.
Where clearly the shadows of tree limbs
weave themselves atop the dry hillside,
my jaded glance offers
the shadow of wire.
Barbed wire,
aggressive and still,
encasing a plot of wondrous beauty.
When was this shift?
Or was it even a shift?
Did the day I opened my unguarded eyes
mark the beginning of a lifelong perspective?
Gazing again, I seek the unknowable truth.
I find no appreciation for my mind's fixation on the man-made.
In my frustration, this perspectiveÂ
trembles at my acknowledgment of its being.