Elizabeth Smither
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The eye is badly designed
The closed eye is gone
under the lid like a moon
sliding under the sea.
Open it and it slides down
like someone sliding down
the balustrade of a stair.
It makes thinking odd
that the slide must come
before the look
and how can it be wise
to disappear inside your own head
leaving a blank screen?
The afternoon’s doze, the night’s sleep
write: I am no longer here
and vacate the scene.
Slip away and slide back
how quickly we land
back at the scene, on our feet.
