I once learned to respect the
value of a pinhole in the
mottled shadows beyond the barn
as a boy in the rafters
high straddled and peering into
life resumed upon a moments silence
and the crunching of pebbles
and the flurry of worlds drawn back
shrinking into the swirls of marbles
my body was giant eyeballs picking
down shovel-like clinking and then opening
out of that hot wind
that sat below the tin
and if we would have long enough
I’m sure I would have seen him
by Robert Jameson
