Where paths cross people meet
some stay over for a while
others disappear completely
some staved the cane
the rear view mirror
was never
a path
to their aim.

What’s this glaze
over my eyes…

A heavy mist
with fingers…
that lingers.
A cataract that
dives and claws
into the black
of irises.

A film,
a veil,
a canvas botched
and vandalised
with arguing paints.
And indelible black
that sings of sadness,
highlights the aches
of dejection
and screams
betrayal.

When the prisoners

are outside, they walk circles --


inside in their heads.