Myopia

MYOPIA
( I wasn't THAT grateful! I had a cataract operation shortly after I wrote this!)

I stand on the balcony at night;
A moonlit night of a billion stars.

All things are crisp, outlined,
Solid and picturesque, neat and orderly;
Everything in its appointed place.
Houses, trees, pathways and the horizon beyond
Cut out in cardboard.
I am entranced.
Such beauty!

Suddenly a moth invades my hair!
I flurry my hand across my face!
My glasses fly off the balcony, to be lost in shrubs below!
I am, for a second, bewildered, disoriented,
Enmeshed in white light.
I cannot see!
Then, magically, I see!

My eyes become accustomed to glory.
I am a swimmer
Swimming through pale swathes of liquid luminosity.
Each star is a huge white chrysanthemum.
The multitudes fudge and fuzz and seem to fuse.

Below me, pale green billows
Disappear into the mist, dancing.
My eyes widen; my fingers splay with longing.
I feel bleached, like a skull.
Tendrils of hair are silvered against the immensity of sky,
So close that I can see them clearly.

I am drawn up
Toward the puff ball cloudiness of a new moon,
That is, indeed, a brand new moon,
One never seen before by these eyes.
Limpid lispings of light spiral down to me.
The light is like white wine, spilling over my face;
Sweet, exotic, tasting of starlight.

And I say a heathen prayer of gratitude
To that obscure goddess, Myopia.
She of the semi-sight has given me a vision.
*