Now, even from this distance, you notice
too many espresso cups scattered
across the axes of your life. That is
why bits of unmatched self get shattered
and overlayed in places like this. You
try to count the connections, café number
like a Trinitarian warning right next to
its half-filled bottle. The spirit will clamber
through the window someday, but
you’ll miss it if your eyes are always
covered by the frame’s black line. Shut
in like that you’ll still notice red doorways
which bleed redemption into everything,
the shade of grace which forces you to sing.
In response to an unpublished image, Untitled, by Tony Curran.
1 March 2017