Sight Sensing

My eyes are brown.

Like moth wings

with awkward cream spots

floating around the center.

 

When I look close

at the edges and valleys.

I can see spires of rocky, brown landscapes.

Mountainous, spiraling curves which dip

and duck and flash

as I blink back

droplets of imperfection.

 

What would it be?

To live in my eyes.

To explore the crevices

and get lost in the black cracks

between bark-colored crags.

 

I do not know

the heart of my eyes.

I have never been there.

I see

them only from distance.

A meteor passing

by the foreign world

of my optical orbs.

 

I know what it is

to touch

a moth’s wing.

To have your hands

and fingers sullied

by the powdery, flight ash.

 

Would my eyes,

my own means to traverse the world,

also leave dust

upon woeful travelers?

Dusty remnants of unoccupied roads.

Found deep within

my moth-wing sight.

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