Dear Eye,
You are so long.
Shifting in your trenches, secretive, and guarded
by big dogs. I am paused
as you watch me, for years
now, while I recover. And wait.

Where do you begin with this tedious
time? When the bridge you take each day
is forgotten to be a bridge; when
the cat looks up from his dinner to ask
"Why are you still standing here?"

Welcome to the neutral. Or more
than that. Over-neutral. Time
has dug in its heels and never
seems to go by. Wasn't there an ocean
going under that bridge?

It was a sight. With a roar almost
as loud as yours.

Dear Eye,
You are so loud
and today I flee from the sound, carrying
my pencil and my body from your avalanche.
But this little second, this little hour,
I'm still caught in tricks and water.

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