This was over breakfast, your homemade pancakes
thick with the blackberries I picked this morning,
still damp with dew when I drove them to your house.
We discussed living alone–
It’s all about angles, I said.
From a spot in the grass,
one tiny frog can take on the aspect
of movie monsters.
Your eyes light up.
Before this descends into a talk about Godzilla,
I make the transition—all about angles,
Point of View. Just so, life.
From a certain angle, lonely.
From another angle, rich
with magic and words.
You frown, puzzled. Then your face
clears, you pour maple syrup over your pancakes
and laugh. Oh, you say,
I thought we were talking about Angels.
