Photo from Unsplash+ in collaboration with Jefferson Sees
Spectacle of Spectacles
My Spectacles watched me seek for them
lowered their head with mine.
A clear silhouette of every
Twist
Turn
Bend
But still, they were lost.
Molecules of deepening breaths
heaved a compound:
frustration + time =
where could they possibly be now?
Uniformed lines enlisted recruits
creasing my brows with
a scale of weightiness
pulling down an anemic slope of
wrinkling distress.
A welfare salute
instigated by my fingertips,
rescued and lifted
ounces of the matter,
recalculated the cost, and
adjusted my troubled brows
laundered, starched, and ironed,
in marching accusations.
Water vapors evaporated ghosts
shrouding hollow voids as
prisoners of no communion.
In time...
the willing return of the Prodigal Lenses
fitted on a hilly slope
overlooking our repentance
crowned my body and spirit’s vision.