Parallax —Ben Rutherfurd
You know the way the star you look straight at
shines less than what’s around it? Happiness
has that failure. My father, for example,
propping up his telescope in the dark
backyard. If he sees his own pleasure at work,
the way we do, it’ll be diminished. I mean happiness
once it’s been acknowledged, how it leaves
when directly regarded. Of all, best to be
acknowledged by another, to be the propping
of the telescope itself. The barely lit
tip of a cigar, firefly from here, articulates
a gesture we can’t see. The star metaphor
holds only so long, but following any metaphor too
deep is dangerous. Eventually, you have to accept
objects as themselves alone. Like happiness,
metaphor is true so long as you just glance,
thus my duty to them both, thus mine to him,
as he steps inside to stub out his cigar, pour
himself a second beer, and slips back out
the door where he fades on the unlit lawn.
