.
.
Our expectation that how what
we see
is a priori everybody’s optical reality
begs us, when we discover
we are wrong,
to ask the gods who wrote
this song
.
why what appears to someone’s
vision bright
to someone else’s seems devoid
of light –
why shapes which seem to
me more vague
than fog will clog your vision
in a plague
.
of edgy scraps in
painfully exact detail.
Sigh? Meet wail. How does
this avail?
“We don’t write the song
of sight,” the gods reply.
“You write it every
night. Inside your eye.”
.
.
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