Reflections on Refractions

Myopic,

a meandering microscope,

I notice and focus:

a firefly

a fallen feather

a phrase in Ephesians

a distant bell

a new unfurling fern.

Here, on the wildest stretch of Jersey Shore,

it’s every small a-glistening shell.

Barefoot, bent over, wading

for a fleeting glimpse of glossy color.

Grasping fast – as for a fish –

before sand sucks it in

or retreating waves

tumble it out of reach.

Stooping now

while counting on

and counting down

to the coming Day of daring

when I will unfurl, straighten up and stand,

when I will lift my face to the Whence of every lovely thing.

Sharon Scheenstra

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