In the book of optical illusions
first you see the ancient one
butting heads with the rabbit
then you see the young woman
carrying the duck.
The scintillating black dots
in white circles
seen from the corner of your eye
are not there.
Move the book six feet
away: the angry face is full
of joy.

Close your eyes—
God is the circling buzzards,
the mangled furry thing in the clearing
too beaten to stand:
something you've chanced upon
on the sunny path down the mountain.