With Blind Man’s Eyes

And the blind man’s

Certain fingers

Take the cotton wool fabric

From the shelf

And in his magic gloves

Of pristine white


He paints the picture

Only he can see

For his canvas

Comes from out


… ……The sea


That wells

And swells inside

To burst the walls

Of wounded knee


And with his will

He lights the flame

For inner vision

Needs no eyes


Simply the silence


To hear the pin-drop waves

That now dress the shore

In the deepest

Golden ore


In the toreador

Corridor of fate

The stage curtain

Rises in the blink

Of a floating iris


And the scent of it

Warms the wind

As it floats to infinity

And beyond

Where all are joined

In the common dream


That dances us all

In the majesty

Of the coming dawn