Poem: Corrective Lenses

When I cannot see because I
Cannot see you
And I cannot see
Whether or not those
Reddish blurred Random
Sparking-of-Things are you or
Fore-Shadows (would it really be after-shadows? Is it after yet? Dear God, I hope not)
When, before, I managed to
Miss Completely Cities and
Poets and German words and War
And Lines of Thought. I see
Pilots and into their dreams
Not cities: the lack, that is,
And how it is not all in that
Music or the
Transcendental side of Things.
I cannot see now I
Cannot see you because
When I had it was you
And the Map lay spread out
abovebehindbeyondAnd Back
to me. Of me. Now it is not. Not it
is flat, no
topography, evident at all.
I cannot see but
Blurs who are Old and Tired
Of life. I cannot see
That or have not seen
In you. Thank God.
Now I still see the Cities and
The Messerschmidt 109s
Taking dusty landings and
The Rivers flowing past
Antiquated Cities and
Will see, but I have lost
My depth-perception because
I cannot see You.
I cannot