Defining the impossible {poetry}

Prospective

Prospective /prəˈspektiv/

1. It's all about point-of-view. An ant crawling up an oak, watched by a squirrel among the leaves, who's spotted by an owl soaring through the open sky, nearly visible to those on an airplane as it rises just passed the skyline, with an unfathomable number of stars above, encompassed by infinitely more galaxies that stretch up and over and beyond, reach to the edge of creation.

2. From my point-of-view, stars always reminded me of you. Specifically, how your eyes seemed to quite literally twinkle when they met mine and you smiled. They say you can tell the stars from the planets based on if they twinkle in the night sky, and I knew at once that you were a star —bright, powerful, and doomed to burn out.

3. Time is the master of vision. I have this memory as a child of sitting on a horse that was as tall as the barn ceiling. But I was wrong; I was fooled by my age, my eyes, my wisdom at the time, and now know reality isn't always what it seems. That however real the current that flowed from you to me each time our eyes met, doesn't mean the same thing now. Time is the master of memory.

4. In 100 years you and I and almost everyone we know will undoubtedly be gone. We all move in one direction — or rather we see ourselves moving in only one direction. Does the end offer opportunity to return? Does life replay like a movie, each smile beside a mistake, one after the other in sequence as they were? Does it matter? Because I saw your eyes, and I've been among the stars. And for today, it's enough.