If you gaze through a window long enough,
you’ll discover your eyes tether themselves
to some trivial chip of scenery: a gray mailbox,
its open mouth tilted skyward like a cannon —
the dark belly of a garbage can harboring secrets:
the brown flesh of a half-eaten pear and the worn skin
of a kitchen towel stained with mustard
and strawberry jam. Your sight will sharpen itself
against your imagination and the darkness insulating
the air between evergreen branches will brighten.
The shade tattooed beneath a row of tulips near
the neighbor’s fence will glow.

© by S. Thomas Summers
Used here with the author's permission.