The Designers Eye

The Designer’s Eye I look up to the blue expanses, Needing to see just a trace of my designer, Just an eyelash, or the tiniest of a skin flake. Maybe just the descent of a strange leaf, So that, inside my insecure soul, There is some tincture of truth, I can hold on to; Just a nanosecond of illuminating light, Of something beyond nature and, Its troubling temper tantrums. I know there is an invisible curtain before us. I can feel the staring eyes of the dead. They sit in the Big Theater, Watching the Big Play unfold endlessly, And I am on the stage of time, Still reciting the soliloquies of fear. But over there, Lurking behind the bannisters, Look! I see the Beast. He has shot Lincoln. Now the designer has shown me his eye.