Albert Huffstickler
Eyes
I think she was my eyes.
I haven’t drawn since she died.
The pictures aren’t there.
I think, on some deep level,
I’m blind--and wonder
if there’s some spell or
ritual that I can perform
that will bring my eyes back.
We know so little and
so much that we’re certain
is under our control is not.
I look off into the distance
and see an old man, blind,
led through an ancient city
by a girl child. She is
his eyes. They move together.
What each would forfeit
without the other is
beyond believing.
Page(s) 115
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