Phillipe was always looking downward

at devices, at dirt on the floor, at his future.

His friends worried that his eyes 

would get stuck, or worse,

acquire a condition called ''lazy eye.''

Philippe looked down at such advice:

they don't know me; look me up.

...and yet, and YET, one downy day.

he was raking the leaves fallen down

from a poplar tree in his backyard.

Hearing a sound, a sweet song

from a what? a songbird singing

look up, look up, look up.

Philippe, annoyed, looked up.

Perched on a branch, 

looking down, as was Philippe's

favorite posture,

was a most striking bird,

of tints and hues, greens and blues,

that he had never seen before.

And beside the glorious singer,

was a glorious orchid--

achingly lovely, hanging downward

from the branch as if reaching out,

causing him to look downward,

from fear, from shame, from what?

Were they real: the songbird, its song;

the orchid, its loveliness?