I am being watched.
Which sends a warm shiver through my fingers,
because snow be dammed, Spring is on its way
so watch your eyes! The barefoot sentinels
watching over the Equinox have floated down
from the tops of the trees in the skies.
They are pointing into the pools of snow.
So lovely in their silky uniforms, eyeing
themselves in the murky reflection. Except
that it’s not themselves but more like a
cubist/surrealist/absurdist
version of what they love most about themselves:
They see their talent swell to swallow the moon
and their eyes refract street light and rainbow.
Sort of like the Mirror of Erised
except they’ve already got what they want most,
and none of us quite know it yet.
I’d invite them in
but I have nothing to offer them
except my own enthusiasm.
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