possesses smooth clarity of vision.
He rolls his glass eye
to dispense balm for frail children who then recover.
Look into his glass eye.
You will see yourself split into fractals--
all the selves you are capable of being.
He greets each one
warmly, personally.
At night, he sets his eye on the nightstand
in a glass of solution.
It shimmers like a planet there, from which horoscopes might be drawn.
In the morning he replaces it and is filled with intelligent resolve.
If you meet the man with the glass eye,
do not ask what happened to his "real" eye.
It is in your head,
whispering sweetly.
_____
for Day 10 of my 39 poems in 39 days.
image: Tete d'homme barbu by Picasso.