Cataract
I see you, pedestrian, matte, impassive sky,
not unlike a smear on a windscreen – wings erased,
and nonplussed - spread in your presence, dull.
Where is the stroke of Korat fur, the thunder blushing finger?
I am so wanting today.
I left my daughter by the sea, growing auburn,
do you know her? And my father’s dandelion hair;
away, away, away.
I move without pith, maps tangling around my ankles,
all Mome rath, and my husband’s vows, moth eaten.
I am stopped.
I need not see to see you, I tell myself every day.
Marianne Louise Daniels
Fri 19th Nov 2010 10:37
thankyou steve!