My eyes, not seeing you Poem by Erin Mouré

My eyes, not seeing you, to all else
go blind.

Is it you, from far off, blinding me?

So many others just look up from their mundane
desks, and see you.

They re blind too, without a clue
of what blindness is.

(Green plants see me, I can t bear
to see them.)

(Ducks, white leaves. The air
of Lisbon.)

(Ships.


[ ] #1394
María A. Soldadeira



The excess, 'ships,' is one way of hoping for love.