When I change the way I look at things,
the things I look at change.
With new eyes, I squint at the once familiar—
Now a street corner sprouts wings,
A mailbox metamorphoses,
Its maw stuffed with secret flights.
A dog with three legs hops like a question
Left unanswered by passing strangers.
Coins in my pocket jingle, not with spending,
But with tales of distant shores.
By merely tilting my head,
The sun fractures into a murder of crows,
The wind—now a thief—steals my last thought,
And on the pavement, my shadow breaks its chains.
We’re all undercover, it seems,
Sparrows double as spies,
And the moon, full-faced and sly,
Whispers to thieves in the night.
I shift my gaze once more,
And even the mirror starts to doubt,
Laughing at its own silver face,
As I become who I might be.