The Eclipse

          after Walt Whitman

When I wore my solar glasses that cost a simple dollar,
When I watched the perfect ball of fire 93 million miles away,
When our moon moved in measured time between us and our sun,
How my mind cleared
In those mystical moments toward totality,
And not until I took my glasses off did I realize
I had not thought about lies, fraud, or immunity.
I never thought once about his name.

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William Palmer’s poetry has appeared recently in I-70 Review, JAMA, ONE ART, On the Seawall, and Rust & Moth. He lives in Traverse City, Michigan.