Like Spinoza ...
who also loved the geometry of lenses,
my wife understands
how the tangible capers on invisible toes,
keeping its difficult balance
like an acrobat on a high wire
perilously performing without a net.
Pointing the eye of her camera
at a thunderhead laced with lightning,
or at white pudding in a blue bowl,
around the sun she rides,
upside down half the time,
turning with earth,
celebrating the birth of light,
the opalescense of goose grass
and the rainbows in prisms.
Beckoned by a wink
and bunched in a box,
photons paint for Nickii their beamy pictures -
the smile of a snapdragon,
a junkyard in the moonlight,
the gnarled bark of a Joshua tree,
tumbleweeds blazing in the desert at high noon.
With the rightness and rigor
of Euclidian axioms
the numinous flowing away of the world.
As the cyclops
gleams in my direction,
I kindle a grin
from deep within
by thinking about my grandchildren.