Poem

The Belief in Eyes

Why do I believe
one of your eyes is exactly
proportionate to the other –
right, left,
shape, size –
an optional illusion?

Each its own conduit
of flights and journeys,
shapes and hues caught
and lost, jagged endings
released in this mirrored
moment and the next.

Without breath, answer,
there is still the right
eye or left, full of anguish
for something lost,
believing I am lost
in there, somewhere, too.