The Screen
Comes the hour of morning
When alpen glue binds gilded
Sunlight to the metallic matrix
That is my screen. The glass
Between me and it reflects
What I daily see. But when light
Is just right there appear palm
And nose prints where skin oil
Has transferred body to pane
Much like lemon-juice ink is
On paper made visible by flame.
Looking through it the world is
Imprinted with secret pictographs.
Someone has looked here before.
Bruce Morton divides his time between Montana and Arizona. He is the author of two poetry collections: Planet Mort (2024) and Simple Arithmetic & Other Artifices (2014). A chapbook, Olive-drab Khaki Blues, is forthcoming from FootHills Publishing. His poems have appeared in numerous online and print venues. He was formerly dean at the Montana State University library.