The relationship between f-stop and depth of field
All this anger swirling up from the planet,
an orbital cloud of dark debris, a hazard
for spy satellites and GPS, a spinning swarm
slowly groomed by gravity
into a disk. Spokes of light
play across the revolving wafer
ice and dust and break into waves
of color, the Earth with a ring
to rival Saturn’s, traveling through time to a distant
telescope through which a child’s mind opens.
Shimmering through blind eyes
The red-winged blackbird
watched from the apex
of the tallest pine
the sun an hour from setting.
Looking west the blackbird
watched and fussed
and occasionally sang a brief burst.
The sun an hour from setting
the blackbird launched herself
on a sweeping glide
swallowing the fallow fields
and thickets already fallen in shadow.
Before or after, there is…
No pictures on the walls,
the clutter of a mind easily contained
in two rooms in two tones
of beige, a border of brown, a carpet that won’t
show stains, two flights up
trapping the heat of summer,
a playful time down below,
muscles cars on the street
pausing for a passing siren
whipping a sapling in a circle
of mulch to which a single sparrow
sings at dawn, or perhaps sings
to the ceiling light on a pull string
shining against darkness of a window
floating through milky mists of cloud.