Pick up the tube, hold it to your eye
as if searching for a pirate ship.
Inside these three mirrors fragments
re-arrange themselves endlessly.
Your son, the light catching his hair
like a halo, late winter.
The smooth quick movements as you
polish the lenses.
The chemical burn in your eyes,
the dark for months on end.
Let light pass through you
until you don’t know what is
big and what is small.
This is the world now, the whole world.
Through a kaleidoscope, from the brokenness
a whole could emerge. We look in,
our backs to the truth as if it were our own sun.