the detail

sun shoots from west
onto my right shoulder
strolling home down barre
120 degrees SE, i checked

evening warm and familiar set
of whitish glare lines on the right lens 
inside these reflective sunglasses
flit eyes to the corner just to see
lo and behold the red tan crows feet
and ten thousand fine white hairs 
of this upper cheek 
magnified and reflected
like a viewmaster of self

point being, the detail
the goddamn endless detail
unfolding unbroken
multiplying at the rate 
of one's slowing and quieting 
there's as much as you can take
without turning away