When
I was a child the brush stood
brilliantly on far hills
as I gazed.Now I
wear two miracles of glass
framed in front of my eyes.
Without them I see out to my hands only.
All that is beyond,
the trees with branches reaching skyward,
the earth with furrows
guiding rain toward the sea, everything
is vague, the outlines lost,
uncertain behind the veils.
Forgive, I pray, this
myopic sight,
this lack of vision,
this failure to see things as they are.
What wonders have I missed
because my eyes cannot resolve
what is around me?
I wish to put aside these
weighty frames
and walk with my eyes as naked
as you made them.
I long for one clear moment
shining up like a bright pebble on a creek bottom,
so beautiful as it gleams through the rushing, dusky
water
I can't stop my hand
from reaching.
And if the water clouds at
my finger's touch,
I pray my leaning forward to reach out
will cause me to glimpse a second,
beautiful stone,
causing me to reach again
as I cross the stream
one bright pebble at a time.
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