Viewfinder for the Divine (F.B. Wood)

My eyes are not my own

For twenty five cents and

The clockwise spin

Of their wrists

Celestial bodies

Folding their wings

To vacate their duties

Among the stars

Taking witness to

Petal-ed beauties floating

Down rocky streams

Only to sail out

Among the endless blue

Vastness to salt

Click

The lens shift to black

A tickle on the back of my head

I reach to scratch 

To find drops of water

Even when it isn’t raining

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