We blur all our lines
sometimes.
We cover up our eyes
and hide.
We smother our own words
and I have heard
we keep ourselves inside.
Some days
all we see
is just a scene,
viewed on an old movie screen.
From a distance,
small and out of focus,
no wonder we can’t see.
When we don’t seem to end
where we begin,
so full of holes
the cold gets in
and we don’t know
that who we touch
feel it so much.
Separated by no lines at all,
only by a wall
of drifting fog.
Amputated from ourselves,
afraid to look,
so we can’t tell,
what line is keeping
us from Hell.
No divine vision.
A bathroom mirror
covered with steam,
reflects only
the vaguest dream.
The window pane
opaque with frost,
cannot show us
what we have lost.
And when we look
back at our past,
we look as though
through old stained glass.
The future, too,
we thus occlude,
blinded eyes to what is true.
I see you there,
so far away.
A smudge of darkness
against the day.
Blink my eyes,
reach out my hands,
to see if I can touch you, and
break this fugue
to give us one,
dividing line we’ve overcome.
The fog might lift,
the scales might fall
and we might see it all.
The movie plays
all crystal clear
and maybe we can face our fear.
HG – 2019
