A metaphor I think works


I nearly lost my sight, and now it’s clear.
The lines and blurs are gone. Laser and knife
lens changed for plastic. Never in my life
had I seen birds in trees. There is a fear

that I had to this moment, cut away
to clarity. Your head touches my skin
a little pressure. You lean further in
no random touch. It’s not the words you say

a little mocking, softly, but the trust
more than soft hair on bare arm as you lean.
Catch breath a little. This could always mean
less than I think or hope, but hope I must.

You tease the fear away. I am not wrong.
I see as well as hear sharp joyous song.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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