My daughter stumbles on mirage,
how light bends
as it crosses temperatures,
travels air and water.

We place a pencil in a glass,
watch the eraser shift
from its submerged stem.
We shine light into liquid,
map the angle of its ray.
We imagine fish in a pond,
lower than they appear.

We draw lines with arrows
to illustrate how air
curls light back to its source,
draws clouds on sand,
conjures castles from rock and ice,
floats mountains into sky.

Rebecca Clark