HOW THE EYES Poem by Jessica L. Wilkinson

(1) find birds——hundreds of them——no speed
limit, or——as fast as the frame can see.
Here is a bird in a cage. He or she is
one of the lucky ones; (2) let sleeping dogs
lie——or beat the truth out of them——the end
is always the same——a boat in a lake with no
(3) water. Yet still it passes by——a cloud
without rain. And his face is embedded in it.
I (4) know it. Sometimes it helps to observe
a model posing as if told ‘pose like x';
we all (5) fumble around in the dark, trying
to define our selves. A dead fox on a rug is
(6) still a rug, and soon enough the photos
(7) develop from the camera with a dirty lens.