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Poetry By: Wilbur

Late winter makes for a kind of trapped cabin fever while early spring brings with it an optical illusion.

Submitted:Feb 22, 2012    Reads: 40    Comments: 16    Likes: 10   


At first I think window's merely misted
Feel no more than pleasure
Deep in my warm snuggery
Secured comfort against
Early Spring raw cold damp

Later, I look up to see
Startling transformation
Lines washed out, details blurred
Colors leached to nothing
Density without depth

I am being subsumed
In a luminous blankness
Familiar gone missing
Only light-filled stuffing
Un-ratified un-sanctioned universe

Staring makes no breach
Watching only drags at Time
Wonderment turns watchful wary
Worldly wisdom of no help
Clutch of odd hooks deep

Then, renegade drops
Fog condensed
Leave in their snail-wake
My familiar watery world
Restoring my reality

Only a ghostly fog print
Shutter too long left open
Film overexposed
Showing me, briefly, a non-world
Catching me within its solidity

Now again is a Renoir-world
Color and depth restored
Back from point of imbalance
Allowing that alien in-between
An early Spring bemusement


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