I have edited enough. Now I need new eyes on this poem, so I can keep on editing.
Ode to Camera
I slip it out of
a gray hospital sock
protecting it from other objects
in my purse. All I know is
point and shoot, but
part of me wonders
how sensors capture what
the eye sees, what the soul
memorizes. I kneel on
knobby knees
at the forest's edge and
frame a blooming dogwood,
spreading its white arms like
a ballet dancer.
Next winter
the snapshots will breathe
spring into me.
For now, back into the sock.
Ode to Camera
I slip it out of
a gray hospital sock
protecting it from other objects
in my purse. All I know is
point and shoot, but
part of me wonders
how sensors capture what
the eye sees, what the soul
memorizes. I kneel on
knobby knees
at the forest's edge and
frame a blooming dogwood,
spreading its white arms like
a ballet dancer.
Next winter
the snapshots will breathe
spring into me.
For now, back into the sock.