The Distant Land of Myopia
Dull tones smear and coddle in a gray muddle.
Cow munch cloud fields.
A reality steeped in prismatic conjecture
until I find my spectacles.
I enter reality, a Columbus arriving in America;
not on the continent, but on some island
and outcrop just short of finding.
Gradually, through the resurrection
of rods and cones,
a little myopia and less blind faith
feeds the expectant mind,
until it can see both the daffodils
and the ancient hands that brought them here.
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