The Sightstop

To spell amid a tree's sundapples
the birds' practiced shadows argues
an eye for effects, dark against dark—

simple discernment, nerves aligned
and brain, perception minus squinting:
the true 20-20 if you can bind

that sight until through repetition
it is nothing, a blur which focus
has lost itself in, a memory mimed.

Even windows, those indentations
of day, hold a void of the view.
They too are restrained by its stops.

Meanwhile the hydra of my soul
needs just one more mirror to see
itself whole, so hold your eyes still.

Copyright © 2003 Bill Knott All rights reserved
from Crazyhorse
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission