The Random Art of Beautiful Days by Ronald E. Shields

When the telescope arrived in the mail
the first thing I looked at was my brother’s eye.
It was a blur that moved when he blinked.
I drew a picture of it and he cried
because it looked like something
he had never seen before,
as when the paint by number Last Supper
has some numbers scrambled
and takes on the look of a work of art.


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