Written April 8, 2010; the day I picked up my first pair of glasses after having spent some five years out of focus.

The glaze of softness coated an ageless world
Of beveled edges, sealed wrinkles, ever-youthful eyes.
Impressionist faces, scenery gorgeously fading:
Trick photography of the mind. 

Existence without sustenance forgets its ache
The taste of light is lost to time.
No thirst is true until the splash of sight
Revives the watering eyes.

 The acrylic color of her mother's immortal face:
Cracked fresco. Her true life re-earned.
The stiff skin of her father's cheekbones, too,
Shattered into spidered capillaries and wind burn.

 Periscoping prisms and the sickness of spinning
Too bright. Too bright.
Her memories wept at the betrayal of vision:
So long with perjured eyes.


She drank, she poured the pitcher of the world
Upon her parched memories. 
The joyous splashing of sight, like a child
In the first kiddie pool, on its knees. 

Each droplet of a glance became a downpour:
She craved the cracks in tiles
Every smudge on every glassed mirror
The skewed letters on Chevron signs.

Appetite, once sated, will return again.
The hunger for life never dies.
Although the world forgot its art and glow
She smiled. She cried. 

The End

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