“Through a Glass” by Alixa Brobbey

The day before the world unlocked
into geometric shapes, trees were blobs.
Angles were rounded, glowing things,
every object blending into its neighbor.

The way the world unlocked, it rather
shattered into a million tiny grains.
Trees became petals dotted with veins,
but fog threatened to cloud the scene.

So, imagine the joy of godly bifocals,
seeing both star and seed, both
wrinkles and woolen whispers, both
balm and bile, salt and sweet, all
stretching and shrinking through eternity.