Like Spinoza ...

who also loved the geometry of lenses,

my wife understands

how the tangible capers on invisible toes,

keeping its difficult balance

like an acrobat on a high wire

perilously performing without a net.

Pointing the eye of her camera

at a thunderhead laced with lightning,

or at white pudding in a blue bowl,

around the sun she rides,

upside down half the time,

turning with earth,

celebrating the birth of light,

the opalescense of goose grass

and the rainbows in prisms.

Beckoned by a wink

and bunched in a box,

photons paint for Nickii their beamy pictures -

the smile of a snapdragon,

a junkyard in the moonlight,

the gnarled bark of a Joshua tree,

tumbleweeds blazing in the desert at high noon.

With the rightness and rigor

of Euclidian axioms

she frames

the numinous flowing away of the world.

As the cyclops

gleams in my direction,

I kindle a grin

from deep within

by thinking about my grandchildren.

Click.

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