Looking Through a Telescope

Harold Bowes

It would be like looking into a dark room A man would be holding a small, white flower But you would not see the man, nor the stem only the flower, and there would be a breeze, a window open, and the petals would flicker It would be as though the man had stood, the flower would be very high, he was a tall man You knew this, and it would be this way every night every night that the door would be open   (first appeared in The Magazine of Speculative Poetry)