Glanced

I.

You lovely looker on and by and by and.
One-eyed Cupid, locked, cocks, and shot

Zeno’s arrow at Zeuxis’ grapes.
Shaft straight. The pointed

parabola arced its homeward hoops on its
wondering way through loop and loop

towards my eye’s apple; its
projectory now arches down to heel to hit

or miss, may kiss the head or glance off
on bow bend or twisted thread.

My flighted hope: that bird cracks glass, and tumblers
beakers breaks on painted grapes

on picture plane or bounce back
deflected, as mote on float

reflected. Map the rebound cause
...