terrypetersen

Tis but a part we see and not a whole. (Alexander Pope)

Slices of green leaf hold drops of water,
while my camera crops the rest 
of the plant from my yard.

My window seat opens a square 
of flight into midday sky. Into
finespun white and gray clouds.
 
Blue twists through nature’s 
continuous artwork, 
intangible yet visible.

While the land below blends
into solid colors. Squares. 
An illusion of sameness.

When I hear angry people, I assume 
motives. Yet, what has been cropped 
from this old man’s life? 
Or young child’s future?

How long has this girl been searching 
through fragile clouds of the past 
for what can’t be found in the present?

I belong to the whole. 
The path opens wider,
yet never gives all.

Slices of green leaf hold drops of water
while my camera crops the rest
of the plant from the scene. 

I study what I see
while the whole holds all.