It’s the stage of grief where
I become a transparent eyeball. I am nothing. I see all.
I dare you to find anyone better at leaving me
than me. The days click past, gleaming
& I have come clear of it—see how
I’m sunlight on water, a triumph, a mirror,
a pearl of rain refining a leaf?
Don’t you drag me back to that other story.
A wide, angry sky. A long journey on foot.
Coming to a hedge maze of grief.
Trapped. Can’t see for crying.
Leaving my body there
to burn. I’m pure of that now.
Don’t you understand? I’ve escaped.
Only iris & aperture—clean. I want nothing
to do with that other self, walking
her spiral of mud. The one caught out
red-handed, hoping. Useless for kindling.
Making her stupid little plans.
See how she looks nothing in the eye.
Her face with a hole where an eyeball should be.
