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