Struck Blind
April 25 2008


If they told me I’d be struck blind
on this day, a year from now,
would I gorge myself on light
drink-in every sight and every colour
until I overflowed?
Until my skin glowed
and my eyes beamed
and my ears flashed
pure white thunder-bolts?
Would I stare into the sun
'til it made my eyes smoke,
and ghost through moon-lit nights
memorizing shadows?

Or would I draw the shades
and wear long sleeves and tinted glasses,
hiding-out
in dark interiors?
Until my skin turned mushroom white
and my sight inexorably wasted?
Would I renounce vision, when I had a choice,
instead of waiting for it to be taken?

I’ll play piano by feel,
only black keys and minor chords.
And I will seduce you
with perfumed notes, in Braille.
And I will learn to make love with the lights off.
My world will shrink to this handful of streets
I know by heart,
but they will expand to contain it all.
Because I will hear everything,
a tear drop
a butterfly rustling its wings.
And I will breathe deep,
an authority on rot
a connoisseur of odour.
And I will leave fingerprints
exploring every surface,
like a fine instrument of touch.
Closed to sight, I will open up;
a raw neuron
exposed.