2 January 2020
For a long time, I felt there was a veil
that draped the world, a gauze or cellophane;
now I’ve come to know it’s more of a blur–
every moment a smearing of self,
a shadow that never lifts because it’s
made of light. Is it all a blur because
our eyes are full of false light? The veil lifts;
drops. Log in, log off. Stare into the flames;
later we’ll learn it was faulty wiring.
The new year begins with fireworks &
missile strikes. Meet the new fear, sane as
the old fear; old acquaintance, never forgot.
Smoke or ash, veil or blur? All eyes blink, burn.
When I reach out to touch it, it turns, turns.