Impressions

My camera can’t do justice 

To the goldfinch in my yard, 

But only gives impressions 

 Of his color and his shape: 

It can’t define the texture 

 Of his feathers or his feet, 

Or convey that sense I get 

Of impending flight, 

Any more than we, from a distance, 

Can get a sense of what delineates 

One human from another; 

So much easier to make blanket 

Judgments from afar and write folks off, 

Assuming they don’t matter 

Or have nothing to offer 

Because they appear to fit 

Some preconceived stereotype…