Sight Poem by Mark Sauer

It was Bethsaida; not my town, but close, and I know the way;
A beggar has to drift to make a living. There was a crowd,
Which usually is good for business; but not that day.
They were all chattering, excited about him, and it was hard
To get my bearings, to feel the houses and the beaten road
For the press of people, the herd stink, the muffled echoes.
Soon the hub bub lessened, and kind hands started to propel
Me forward and they murmured, but I didn't understand.
They all drew back a space; and then he was there. I could tell
It was him, but he didn't speak, just took me by the hand.
He led me off a way; it was open and I felt a breeze
And then he spat and his moist thumbs compressed each withered eye.
That's when it happened - all at once,

I fell sobbing on my knees
In terror as the vast world burst outward underneath the sky.
I looked wildly about, at gnarled mottled flowing things with trembling threads
Fluttering from top and branches that split and weaved madly, with talking
Convulsing holes that shut and gaped, and it was so bright above my head
That it hurt. He spoke at last, to ask. 'I see men as trees, walking'
I answered stupidly. The world was too full. He touched my eyes again
And made the tempest still. He asked, again. I answered him 'I see men'.
Go home' he said 'but not through the village - speak to no one on the way.'
So I left, staggering. None stopped me. I mapped my new world with each step,
Reconciling mind's eye with the seeing ones, testing the disarray
Of colors (so unexpected) , of forms and textures; and as I crept
Home through the rediscovered land by this miracle called light
(Remorseful that I had never thought to thank him for the gift)
I wondered that men could wonder at anything else but Sight.