Sunday, August 17, 2014

Point of the Sea III

I knew I couldn’t see.
I walked over the broken glass anyway,
The nerves having been dead since the first time.
The quick impression became blueprint, the world went dark,
Routine the death of a thousand rods and cones.

Then there was a sign in my retarded vision
I never saw in the dearest light. After months
Of thinking there was no recycling, no rebirth from life’s darkness, there
In my twilit eyes was a shadowy indication
Missed a dozen times over in the best days’ pitched attentiveness.

How it would take a late night and long nap to see
Through encrusted lashes that the glass needs
Not shattered uselessness but opportune flame,
New-found viscosity a miracle,
Transparently ecstatic, galvanizingly illuminated, a glittering anxiety—vision.