while napping on my sofa
I am startled awake
by vivid prismatic colors
on the wall in front of me
cast there by two prisms
Removed from German officer’s binoculars
who might have surveilled
Allied positions calling in the shots
brought back by my father
at the end of World War II
taken apart by my six-year-old hands
To carry with me through five decades
placed on my window sills
so I can see the prism colors
caressing the wall
awakening me on dark afternoons
when the sun returns
A machinic tool of war
scanning the light of battlefields
calling in death and blood-red color
through time transforms an object
filling my eyes with rainbow hues
of prismatic peace.
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