Perched
Beneath a sky
Of cobalt and lavender
While the dying sun
Throws glitter bombs
Off glass towers
But all I can see
Are three dots
Racing on the display
“Jason is typing”
This Schrödinger’s mobile
Holds two truths
Like petals pulled from a daisy
Each dot flashing in turn
He loves me
He loves me not
Both are true
Until the dots stop
To reveal the nature
Of the final petal
The earliest stars
Twinkle under a brazen moon
Keeping the sky
All to itself
Dwarfed by sky and clouds
Or in the mountain’s shadow
Some small dot upon the plain
Not so much larger
Than its inhabitants
Nor any one who on the streets
Looks up at towers looming
Considering what hands have built
In any way diminishes
The smallest human being
Dominated by nature
Which is, of course
Its greatest appeal
Or is the world
Just as it is
And all the fractures and facets
All the breakage and breaking
Just me?
But from here
Across the inlet
It resembles only
A small forest of brick and steel
Concrete and glass
Its denizens
Too small to register
Of course
This also altered my sense
Of beauty
Amber and rouge
Blue and black
Skyline betwixt
The sky and sea
Pix to Words 