When I change the way I look at things, things change

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.