Reflections on Sight and Shadows
Not yet, but nearly. “In the sunlight we are all blind,” she says. Winter sun lies low, barely touching the alley, missing the cat, the rat, the chase. She tilts her head; her ears lean into the wind as it troubles the fence slats and moves through them with a thin, unsettled voice. She hears where the peonies bloom. Feels the purpled thistle before she reaches it.
Nearly blind: that eye that once saw the other half of the argument. Almost blind: that eye that knew the scent of a tree. Around her, the afternoon has begun to lose its edges. She is a patch of darkness inside it. Nearly, but not yet.
the ground is dancing
inside eventually loss
sight worth all the sky
Written for dVerse Poets, Haibun Monday “vision” ©Misky 2006-2026. Image is my own.
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