Poems, like pixels,
all spread out and presenting a picture
despite their partial, and perhaps complete, irrelevance.
To be fixated on a particular pixel
is to be missing the picture,
mistaking a brick for the castle…
Though put together with precision and care,
it by itself is not all that is there
nor was ever intended to be a reflection
of anything particular in its full capacity.
Just a block of approximately one solid color,
and surrounded by others,
the colors of which make practically all of the difference.