not the flight
but the battle
not in the hardest stone
nothing like this
and the bloodshot
worsened with withered hours
and the pins and needles
worked the cornea
(the tributary image
reappears in the once-white
of the eyes, creeping
and creek-like)
until the drops were
administered and I saw again
what you saw
when we got back
home and lit up
the office desk lamps
and wrote about
how irony blesses
us with coincidence
and illness seeps
through the thin thin
walls like the wind
(more ironic that chronic)
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