The Art of Looking

It wasn't clear where the point of entry began;
Or the exit.
This made the removal all the more difficult – the exorcism of lingering things.
And linger they did.
They were raindrops on washing lines.
They were leaves in decay holding fast.
They were the last slivers of horizon light at dusk.
But light they were –
And worthy they felt –
And they drew the eye.
It is then, in the act of examination, that the rest retreats, and you are left with these things –
Focal points of a life,
In your eyes.

There are those that pass by and through them without truly breaking stride.
It means they don't carry them –
Become fixated to a point where the background of their existence blurs,
And there is only that thing.
To continue straight on is to allow no time to consider it;
But it also dispels the need to.

How is it possible to know,
When it comes to looking,
How much
Is too much?