the looking glass  
possesses fragments of a view.  
surrounding figures and forms  
collapse as our fingertips meet.  
yet, steady is the scene  
encompassing pieces of you. 

limbs undulate tenderly 
with the slightest breeze. 
wildflowers spread their seeds 
dropping impressions 
attempting to gain greater visibility. 

such bits linger out of view, 
boulders that were planted eons before, 
torrential rains that flooded these plains 
leaving ridges deep and wide.

yet, this singular slice, 
the object of my heart’s deep affection, 
is purely the only matter 
that requires my line of direction.