Optics By Katje Kaase They always watched his eyes canvassing the room on a virtual venture of public display

His hands alone could relate a story, twisting and turning, with his thoughts flashing like a synoptic diagram The viewing lens of his audience was perceptive but he wrote his own script, a woven tale meant to mislead, a plot leading down a paved road that veered off to become dust a dead end He had become too sapient for their vain attempts to slander or oppose He was a paradigm of mystery perhaps even to himself September, 2013