Dr. Padmashree R P Poet Free verse

My Wandering Eye

My eye is a small brown bird
that won't stay in its cage.

It slips through the bars of my lashes
and flies straight out the window,
chasing a real bird across the sky.

Grown-ups call this a non-focusing,
the eye should perch on the page
like a good, quiet pet.

But I think my eye is a bee.
It wants to land on everything sweet:
the crack in the ceiling, shaped like a river,
a shoe shining like a black lake,
a little galaxy of dust
turning to gold dust in the sun.

And when my eye flies home again,
it comes back full,
its wings dusted with honey,
ready to pour all that sweetness
back into my work.

So let your eyes fly.

Let them drink the whole wide world.

Sitting still isn't the only way to see,
sometimes the best seeing
happens in flight.

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