Friday, March 20, 2009
Prosopagnosia
Pocketfuls of Animal Eyes
pocketfuls
of animal eyes:
Owls and tigers,
Apes and wolves,
The glass of them rolls softly about,
Tracing circles on the floor all around me.
Even so,
She insists on coming up to me, bending down,
touching my shoulder, and whispering (in my ear):
‘Go kill that man in the moon.
Knock clowns from their stilts.
Shield your eyes from the white rabbit’s path at noon,
And burn paper boats as soon as they're built.’
Her fingers flick at the glass (as if it were a marble),
And stiffly await my reply.
But I,
I riddle a yawn her way
And rub my eyelids
until I am made dizzy
with uncharted
stars
of animal eyes:
Owls and tigers,
Apes and wolves,
The glass of them rolls softly about,
Tracing circles on the floor all around me.
Even so,
She insists on coming up to me, bending down,
touching my shoulder, and whispering (in my ear):
‘Go kill that man in the moon.
Knock clowns from their stilts.
Shield your eyes from the white rabbit’s path at noon,
And burn paper boats as soon as they're built.’
Her fingers flick at the glass (as if it were a marble),
And stiffly await my reply.
But I,
I riddle a yawn her way
And rub my eyelids
until I am made dizzy
with uncharted
stars
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