Ted Powers
You are Sick of Being Blind too

 

We touched
and when we touched
we did not
understand fingers.
Now we just sit on
our hands like birds
scared to test the myths
of flight. You
a cardinal maybe, maybe
with a cigarette. The seagull
I am, below
a broken lighthouse.
In the shadows we peck
at shadows, war
memorials and water parks.
Our beaks align; we
act surprised.