My Human Disguise.
To look through windows, that’s my task —
Through pupils, then my eyeglasses,
Then all framed images, unmasked
By fixed or widened apertures
(Bound as eyes are by eyelashes),
But what I see (I’m not quite sure)
Always changes all the same.
Too much is hidden by the frames.
I take what’s there and make sonnets,
An old form, adequate, fishnets
For ideas the images hook,
My own kind of print gallery.
I ask you not to read, but see
What I have written. Then, please, look.
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