A Different Angle

It was like looking through a used lens for the first time;

From a different angle Picasso spoke to me, beauty emerged.

I can’t believe the scribbles in the hardwood floor,

Nor can I believe I’ve never seen it before.

Critters rain down from the orange in the sky

And stack like old pennies for you to stand on—

A quarter worth more than the ground she walks upon.

Pupils widen as stocks soar

To the point where your worth is more than I can afford.

A string slips through my fingers, and I watch

The balloon run towards something else in the clouds

Circumference, your eye, permanent in mine.