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Tomorrow Blind

 


If I wake up tomorrow blind
what will I see in my mind?
Will I be able to paint old scenes
on the velvet black?

Tapping down this familiar street
will I be able to project it back,
will I know where the pavement drops,
where lampposts threaten, where to turn
to find your house, or mine.
The faces hidden behind the doors –
faces I know – will they be hung
like lanterns round familiar voices?
Will I know the colour of each door
or the flowers I scent,
the bird-shapes hidden in the song
or trees that sizzle in the ear;

and when the day is warm and soft
will sibilant foliage songs
bring back the shape of leaves
to chalk up on the black;
and will the sky my mind creates
mimic with clouds the real sky
or only float in pale pretence?

Will all the trees become one tree
one shape to throw on rustling leaves,
and flowers blur to dappled splash,
all birds become one bird, all skies pale blue,
all faces just one face, your face I hope,
and will that fade into a pale white moon?

 

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