Wednesday, 29 August 2012

Glass Eye

Stone walls threading the town.
The long road with big houses.
This is where the well-healed live.
Your father, the tolerant one
with the glass eye, wasn't he a doctor?

We sat on the wall and talked.
The afternoon turned colder
and gradually darkened.

The first stars saw us
still sitting on the wall
and then we went our
different ways: an even
longer road that so slowly
turned my eyes to glass.

2 comments:

  1. "an even longer road that so slowly /
    turned my eyes to glass" . . .
    beautiful lines! somehow haunting.

    ReplyDelete

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