Picture Show Poem by Janet Budd

I think on that ephemeral picture show
That flashes on my inner picture frame
At night. The mysteries it reveals, I know
Will make their flight, in light of day’s mundane.
Then caught unawares, wisdom’s shadow falls
As if forever indelibly been there
Just waiting to be dredged up from dark thralls
Enlightening the circumstance by air.
They say the eye is window to the soul.
My inner eye Disney bright, Bergman deep
Is screened in silver, richly reeled in gold,
A treasure trove of insights. Mine to keep.
I am the eye of all my conjured scenes
The magic I of image, mage of dreams.