Rain pooled in glass boxes, under the wheels
Of the deconstructed, reconstructed camera obscura
And there was ventura on Thursday
No rain- blind melon. Or no melon, but maybe a tea
And we gasped as the fabric disk pivoted
In our little leather room
Seeing things backwards and upside down
We sometimes forget that the world is flipped for us
That it’s curled and clipped for us
No horses- horse drawn. The summer is coming
And I’m looking at the blue sky
From that little leather room
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