From eyes to my mind
there is time
for correction.
This is not the truth,
two perspectives
melting into compromise.
A Cyclope doesn’t lie.
An eye for an eye
comes to mind.
There is time
to find truth
before I put on
my glasses.
I found a note the other day
that made me think of piles of hay
and Summer, how it was when you
and I were children, going through
some phases in our lives that year.
The hay you lifted in the air
made rain that sparkled everywhere.
We didn’t mind our nudity.
You wrote a note you gave to me,
some phrases in our lives that year.
The note proclaims your deepest love,
‘t was something we knew nothing of,
we were just children playing games
with what we saw. We had no names,
for days as in our lives that year.
Black is the absence of colour,
yet, if I use all my crayons,
I get the darkest black.
We need a satellite to communicate
though you are sitting beside me.
Is our love on the same wave length?
If I count all my blessings
I am lacking one on the list.
Or two, three. I wish I couldn’t count.
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