My eyes are undimmed

My eyes are undimmed

But they are weary

Have they seen too much

Or not enough

I remember an old film

Starring

Ray Milland

When in the final scene

He plucked out his own eyes

Perhaps he had seen enough

Melodrama for one day

Although he was a sucker

For depictions of destruction

Playing a dissolute writer

In ‘a lost weekend’

A best actor award was

Something to remember

Perhaps he was blind

To the possibility

Of irony.

When so much of what is seen

Is an approximation

The brain fills in the gaps

With expectation

The wonder is in

What we lose

To the vagaries of translation

The home of illusion

The art of distraction

Seeing is believing

Will make fools

Of us all,

It is in the closing

At the end of a day

All will become crystal clear

Only to be forgotten

Upon waking

Even so

When all is said

The eyes do have ‘it’

In abundance

Whatever ‘it’ is

And the nose

Is just there

To hold up my glasses.