I have no eyes anymore and as usual

I have no eyes anymore and as usual
I step out on my own. I believe I can still see colors

and faceless strangers like Petals
on a wet black bough

I see the red red
red of a leaf
on a tree, hanging, dying,

Man's conscience is the best
mnemonic device.

Sleight of hand, Blink
of an eye, Piece
of half-eaten cake...

You didn't suffer, didn't even
know.

The blood was smeared all over me
that evening, and your empty space
expanded, surrounded me
until I realized you weren't dead.

I never saw the sunrise after that.

Now sightless, in this half-life,
I sometimes strain to see my reflection
in a mirror;

The features I almost see, I swear,
are of your face.

In Memoriam or On The Repatriation Of A Dear Friend

We sit down to eat, in the absence of our friend.
This meal becomes more
than just nourishment.

We use the spices he used; they flavor
our lives, and his old apartment, in which we now sit,
is suffused with their aromas.

I look around
and recall the chaotic state it was in,
when he was forced to go. The tiles
on the walls, then gritty and opaque,
now shine, and reflect our faces.

I say to my friend, “It’s almost as if,
he was never here. . . .”

But in the reflections, we see him too,
in the dawn’s early light, eating
a hearty meal, all of us, tired
but not yet ready to rest
our minds, racing, and our bodies,
tense with potential, wanting
to experience more of all this,
not wanting it ever to end. . . .

“That was so much fun,
wasn’t it?”

Neither of us lifts our forks. Our food
begins to get cold. The water in our glasses
is still.

That was so much fun.

We don’t look at each other. Instead, we face
the open door, see the vast sky, the shimmering city
he loved so much.

It’s almost mystical, but we resolve,
in silence, to savor this
delicacy; our lives!

WE’RE ALONE IN EVERY ROOM

It was fun—
after lunch, after you left—
to be alone with the cosmos,
the porcelain, the prints,
& dusk coming on:

I had gone to the Asian exhibit—
the small dark room w/the pillars—
my favorite spot in the whole world.

We’re alone in every room
with the struggle to abide.

We always leave
another footprint
even after taking the last step.

Did you understand
your cup of tea—
hold on—it won’t be long:
the world itself
is lovely: say it.

Say it.

Did you see it coming.
What did you do
when you saw it coming.

Step outside to believe—
if it wasn’t so easy,
nobody would do it.

By Richard Fox