I bought four pair of glasses yesterday
and one vacuum sweeper,
of which,
only the sweeper made sense,
sucking up the unseen waste
and fibers of our lives,
residue of the air,
falling scales, tears, bird droppings.
But to see so much,
to have to see,
to have to poke into the world’s business,
see blemishes, sores,
I ask why?
I am not blind.
I can do without so much peeking,
reading letters, playing voyeur.
These things are symbols of fetishes.
I allow that things be untouched,
unspoiled.
That love has no reservations,
truth no angles.
Life be clear as a bell
sounding from a tower.
That nothing decays, perishes,
and seeing be an act of coming together,
being born,
not losing our way.
That light be the substance
of my soul,
and no barrier keeps me apart.
So best I can,
I have gotten glasses,
more than I need,
so losing one I’ll not be without another,
and not be confused,
blinded,
inadvertently walk into walls
or need to ask a stranger
for directions.