My childhood was a heat haze of vision.
Sight connected with the idea of sun
light radiant grains of refracted colors & shapes that appeared more bright
than the photography that my family kept under glass displays;
faded & cool, as if left now to simmer down into the film.
It was one vibrant experience of bewilderment:
fish eyes following me when I went fishing
hawks overhead in thermals restless, the
crowns in the clouds towering
& the wide set cusps of palm trees through sunglasses – foliage
showering down reckless
with leaves reaching out to clench the waves of sun
suspended above the asphalt,
& me in the backseat of the car watching
blurs in the distance, ripples in water.
The heat haze still lingers
in fixtures of thought I’ve been able to cling to by
Somehow I misunderstood the shardglass halo I had imagined on grandmother when I was three, with the three circular forms that constituted the sketch’s skeleton of an elephant—her own stain glass radiance hindered
by my lack of understanding
of how halos actually work.
I was too preoccupied with function
a fascination with the mode of production.
Now I realize that mental internalization is still poetry without any physical rendition, beauty found within an interior beholder;
I've been working on my vision (as a) in-a-sense.
I want to reach the gentle spark of spectacle,
learn to become malleable & smile more.
Though silent, I wouldn't carry it like my self & generation; apathetic
but instead regenerative in the motion of doodling, like a reflexive smile of understanding.
& even if I'm constantly forgetting:
each tree has more of a demeanor than I could ever remember,
each empty space of paper is open to everything, just like each breath of fresh air
raising your head just above the water line, the imprint fading
in a spiraling fever, a precious delirium following
the subtle wrinkles that tickle above the pavement, flirting
with the sunlicked moisture & a saltlicked face
this heat haze
moving in & out of me.