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Two hours ago I took a photo of a sky
so blue it came across faked,
one of those 1000 piece puzzles 

where colors have been polarized
to a bluer multiverse; I no longer trust
any image to be true. Even mirrors 

expose a spectre, some quick flash
of a face-what-was, when
any darkness under the eyes 

developed from my choices,
legend-maker nights.
Irises clear, less sad, less 

weary. A ghost at first glance
fades into the face that is—
older, unretouched

by special effect. Without
a hint of yesterday’s
storm that cracked windows 

and trashed yards, bright
with clouds layered atop
a gemstone sky, I took a picture. 

Michele Parker Randall is the author of Museum of Everyday Life (Kelsay Books 2015) and A Future Unmappable, chapbook (Finishing Line Press 2021). Her poetry can be found in Nimrod International Journal, Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, Tar River Poetry, and elsewhere.

NOVUS Literary and
Arts Journal
Lebanon, TN