Glasses (March)

Curve behind ear holds eyesight in place. Arm reaches into space, gripping hold of reflections. Rim mimics brow like a prow. Hinge clarifies words that turned to raincloud. Frame changes facials, frame fronts up like a fashion. Bridge keeps scribes connected, vision in the balance. Lens reasserts certainty, the March of Time. Glasses, the common name, reveal their middle age origins. They gloss gossip, glaze through guesses, glister at getup. Bifocals, no one calls them bifocals much, or spectacles – ghostly synonyms. Eyes age from early, watching every shade of colour, delighted by ease. Left somewhere forgotten, they magnify light alone.