A Book A Day

I needed new glasses
to get through our times.
My lenses clouded. In the cold,
blurry, operating room

they removed my God-given,
pliant lenses and gave me
transparent crystallines.
So I can caress my swains again

to soothe my panic, quell my rage.
There are piles that show me tales,
and songs so clear and pure
that I could never spawn.

Wine in hand, I frame a page,
my new eyes strain to focus
on the forms but my mind
sways through blunders,

the broken panes where once
I saw a blooming willow
and spent an hour waiting for a cardinal.
The book whisperer entices me.

I open a page and then another.
The words and pages foil me.
Inconstant lover, I turn to another,
pray this time to find my pleasure.