Honing One’s Lenses

From child to adult…

Frame one

from high above green grass

disease gazing down at Rusty

ever faithful floppy eared spaniel,

shiny,

sad eyed,

prophetic.

Later…

Sick child’s distorted lens

peering through window of the oxygen tent

distorts mother’s pleading face,

tired,

worn,

grasping for hope.

Adolescent close up…

Father's hand grasping mine,

tears dropping,

lifting familiar motor oil smudges,

familiar motor oil smells,

his ever-present identity,

his cursed life bidding me good luck

as rear-view mirror fades.

25 mm normal view…

New York,

here and now,

touching it,

success,

my kind,

not the academic kind,

not like the onion skin posited.

Hollywood,

but wait,

too much now,

too much perfect,

something wrong.

Have to look ahead,

way up there,

no,

yes,

that's me,

crank the focus up,

yeah,

that's...

No,

that''s not me...is it?

500 mm looking beyond…

Watch out with your 25,

as normal maybe isn't true.

Be conscious of the 500.

Pull it back.

Look through it once in a while.

No, often.

You'll maybe find,

like me,

a peek,

a hint,

a realization.

Yeah…

The telephoto essence.

Took me a long time.

 It's love.

That too took me a long time

So…

Here we are.

Maybe first frame is last frame?

Maybe all frames from one omniscient lens,

rejecting all boundaries?

After all, doesn’t time beg we not look for boundaries,

merely trust infinity’s focal length?

Who knows?

Children ask.

Adults answer.

Ha!

Child to senior,

end in sight?

Stars say… unlikely.