When metaphor is obvious,
should writer take the bait?
Should she write what all can see,
then self-excoriate?
Such conundrum filled my head
as I marveled at the sky;
two swells of salmon brilliance,
sharp blue widened my eye.
But intruding on the beauty,
unwelcome imposition,
a bar of light reflected
like ghostly apparition.
It came from light behind me,
insubstantial, weightless thing,
reflection like a wall
blocking, interfering.
Herein the metaphor,
the cliché all writers dread:
how often what’s behind us
interferes with what’s ahead.
She’s got her camera!
Pond pixels at dawn
Oddments 