In the remaining time
before breakfast
I blink and blink;

my eyes are girded
against the earth;
blacksnake blindness

holds one and not the other;
I can see half the world
and not the other;

close the clear eye
and see fuzz and quickly
open the clear one

to the ordinary world
and I am elated and disappointed;
it seems as I remembered it to be;

with both eyes open
I cannot describe or accurately imagine
the planet as it is, or perhaps I can —

soon enough it will all be
mostly typical and I may fall
into the reverie of broken vision

only when I cry from joy
or sadness or early in the morning
before rising from bed

when I don’t yet know
for a split minute what I may see
upon opening these ruined eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T