EYE-SPY


Not from its deep, black seed
or crazed, hazelled flower
do I gaze,

but from hammer-beaten tin
of iris’s rim,

netting what remains
beyond the scope of vision;

perhaps an all-conquering love
flashes white with unbuckling,

truth unsheathes a sword
against cowardice and lies

or death’s burly, smut-tattooed arm
puts pale flesh to sparking anvil?

Here, on this glinting edge,
the peripheral advances;
what’s shining, immortal,
is always pressing in,

lighting up a blue-green field
beyond our grasp or reason.