I spy

I spy with my little eye
roundness, a fish's view of the lane next to my house
it looks to me like a circle, unending
the trees, the sweet shop with its swirl of sticky gums
at the end of the cardboard made telescope, colors and shapes I spy.

Today I spy with my little eye
three children awake at the hour of travel,
their parents in deep slumber,
deep yet gentle like grass in spring
I spy children spying with an eye, the world bigger than it normally is.

I spy with my little eye, a mother, like mine
reading to her child a bedtime story at noon-
to calm down his fear of the clouds, of monsters under his jacket -turned-blanket
and I spy a dent in my head, now alone I am like a motherless child.

and when I turn to my window, without a telescope I spy
the scenery: a river that runs beneath my feet, helping me day-dream
in full color of mountains and sites I haven't yet spied-
yet what bothers me is, how long it's been since I last
glared and spied at the core of the world
the same way I did when I spied with my make-up free eye.