(no subject)

[proximoception]

Take off your glasses. There - look at the tree:
Just rippled by eye-native petri motes
Each light bursts an identical bouquet,
That stamp that the observator denotes.
(In heaven it's how people sign their votes.)
The wall behind, a stable smoke of gray
At several distances, you now can see
Must be a syrup of such stampospheres
Interimposed past easy recognition.
How many symbols slip past eyes and ears
By virtue of ubiquitous position?
Though on her own toys every daughter dotes,
What is about things is what isn't ours.
Unreading us from it is what empowers.