The fruit fly, with his sticky foot,
secures himself
against the plant stem’s wall.
His wings are like folded tissue paper
and his eyes are comprised
of little globes, eight hundred fold.
I know these things for just this reason:
because I woke at five A.M.
and flipped through a picture book
of small things shown in larger scale.
In order to see what I once could not,
I opened up my own two eyes,
comprised of just one orb a piece
and formerly blind to beauty.
My looking glass from the past is now broken,
and I can no longer see the need
for worry or the details
of my former fears.
Instead, I see the fruit fly
and a thousand other better things
in need of being magnified.
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