We only see pinpricks. Distasteful, inconsequential blips in the bigger picture. There’s a big wide world outside of what we hone in on. We’re practically up to our ears in possibilities outside of the one that transfixes us. Rosebuds peer above our downtrodden heads, and still our eyes droop to the thorns. The sky glows cornflower in a unflecked brilliance but our gaze casts to puddles. How completely we miss what we think we have a handle on. Sometimes I laugh to myself, out loud and without bashfulness, at all the things I thought I knew. And even now, the glare that emanated off of the Silver Glance I coated the world in slips as the sun graduates through the year. I was sure I was losing, sure I was undoing, but now I’m not so sure. Now I wonder if I’ve been staring through the pigeon hole that my heart pounded through the world, if I missed a blooming while I was checking the sky for clouds. My blackberry winter came while I was dusting melted snow off of long-dried sleeves. The world thawed and yet I continued to shake in anticipation of six more weeks.