In the right lens
of my glasses
my eye is reflected
I take a cloth
and slowly, carefully
wipe it clean.
I want to feel
there is no longer a barrier
between me and
what is real,
but it still looks at me
my eye
not sad
not malicious
just looking
slightly swollen contours
reflect
a table,
a window,
and chairs
not in a mirror
but in the lens
a permeable material
of feeling
who I am.
Dec 7, 2025
Dec 7, 2025 at 5:44 AM UTC
In the right lens
of my glasses
my eye is reflected
I take a cloth
and slowly, carefully
wipe it clean.
I want to feel
there is no longer a barrier
between me and
what is real,
but it still looks at me
my eye
not sad
not malicious
just looking
slightly swollen contours
reflect
a table,
a window,
and chairs
not in a mirror
but in the lens
a permeable material
of feeling
who I am.
Thank you, my friend.
Request permission to use this poem