As I press my fingers into my closed eyes
I tense, hold my breath in my chest
And with eyes closed I focus on
Two sets of images, one – flashes of
Light and fog and patterns that fade and flex,
Skulls perhaps float past the inside of
My eyelids, so I press down harder
And the cranium collapses into stars.
,
The other set of images is exteriors,
Expressions and clothes, the red hat of an octogenarian
In a black coat,
The flash in the eyes of a girl as she curls her knees
Towards her chest, her body for a moment a seashell,
The stretching curve of a bridge
A cat in dusty indoors sunshine,
Fingers obscuring closed eyes,
My back a limp arch.
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Interesting…I’ve never thought to characterize what I see when the eyes lids are closed…I suspect that it’s like a Rorschoch test if one collected enough data on poets impressions.