In The River My Blood Flowed

My eyes are giving up on me.
They were sharp once. They knew
how to distinguish a speck of white
on my black leather shoes.

I remember seeing you clearly before.
Your eyes would glance sideways at the strange
outline you haven’t met: glance
at how his shoulders travel perfectly
down to his bulging arms.

Your mouth would twitch when my voice box quivered
every nervous word.  You’d kidnap the conversation
in between sentences, and begin
a monologue.  I made sure I was listening.

Everything is more blurry now
in your absence. The letters
on the keyboard have more softer edges.
The fonts on-screen have traded places
without my knowing. 

I should have taken my eyes more seriously
then.  I should have understood
what they were trying to show me. 

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