Pinholes

Pinholes

Usually there’s a periphery we can see

The thoughts the dance just outside

The psychic field of vision

And occasionally as one flits past

We can optically grab it

Eyes reaching like bug-catching nets

To capture a butterfly effect

That shakes the very foundations

Of how we see

Of what we pay attention to

That recasts the paradigm

Into the crucible

A world reborn of fire

From the powdery wings

Of a captured monarch

Revolutionized in a sense

We call it enlightenment

Or awakening

Or ascension

But what of its opposite

When the shadow

As long as your years

Obscures the edges

Encroaches around the field of vision

Your eyes’, iris without color

the sun’s corona in eclipse

Squinting, into pinholes,

Making the mind small

And the solutions lacking imagination

To look out into monochrome

Where some days, there are no butterflies 🦋.