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.