False Fire

By Peter Halstead

That great monstrosity the sun
Blinds us with its understory,
Rustling labyrinths that run
Beneath the overstated glory

In the sky, that bend between
A universe of matter
And the furies of the screen,
Beyond the nights that scatter

Soul and body through the air,
Twisting everything we know
Into shallow lines of glare,
The movie’s vast intaglio

Decoyed by the sight
Into forgeries of reflected light.