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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem