Tuesday, April 24, 2012


by Kevin Cahill

you look through a window
your breath collects on the pane,
or pausing at an entryway just ajar
your temple presses lightly against a doorjamb,
or peering into his eyes
your hair falls forward,
shrouds your face,
your world gets shuttered down,

not everything is for looking through
and not every aperture opens
on to a field of view,
and sometimes, as you wipe the smudges
from your lenses,
you may wonder about even wider angles,
so you pull back, get a little distance -
but that way there is only one perspective,
the unblinking blue eye, Earth,
staring back at you …coherent, cold, absolute.

back you come, in tight and close,
you dwell furtively in doorways
you linger by window shades,
faces fly by on the bus,
it all comes to you piecemeal
blindingly so,
you’re so blinkered,
so bound and bordered,
so constrained,
but nothing can prevent your looking
or your being intrigued:
a frame holds nothing in
and everything out -
you never feel where you are,
until, focused by necessity,
you are looking through something else.

October 19, 2006


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