With Open Eyes


I have my eyes open now

and I can see the sky 

framed

by debris,

by rocks,

by wire,

by dereliction.

Framed 

by sharpness and

impenetrable barriers.

I want to see it clear,

like I remember

when my eyes were closed

clear and unblemished

creamy white

and pink and blue.

I want want to see it

framed by trees,

I want to see

the rocks become

flowers 

again.

I want to go back to

where the birds are singing

breaking up the sky with flight.

Does it still exist, this place?

I don’t think so.

Will it ever exist again?

I must believe so.


https://www.thepoetmagazine.org/autumn-2021---adversity


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