Watering Hole Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

I look down
at the blind-eye smooth skin
of its surface hard
for me not to look away

it seems to be watching me

beneath the gaze
lies hidden
as in me so much
I cannot see too
much to look at once


for truly seeing I must slip
beneath the skin

become the dead thing
behind the eye
the dead thing inside me

not because...
but

simply to become...
simply to see

in the blind darkness
that lights the eye.