Issue 131, Summer 1994
Entering a cave, or stepping outside at night,
artificial blindness, temporary
but absolute. And if I lost sight,
the long-distance sense, the avenue to color,
would speech and music be enough to live on?
No more sunsets filtered through palm branches,
no more plunge of snowflakes into the breakers,
no more mountains overhung with a crush of stars;
no rose window, no pietà, no Yoruba head;
no more meeting your eyes filling up with light.