it began with an aftermirage
the flickering grey thumbprint
that spiraled into my periphery.
though the hammering haze
I walked to work, squinted at clouds,
stared into the blank spots
on convenience store shelves.
at night I clenched shut the twin
portholes, silencing their watery complaints.
lightning arced through my black vision;
unwholesome phosphene, mouthing
the latin tongue for clots and veins.
three weeks stretched across the seam
of nothingness, palms planted in hospital beds,
feet dragging still through city streets.
the hypothetical horror: secreting
this knot in the core of my blind brain,
shrapnel poised to decimate the body.
today I saw the faultlines of my eyes
laid bare like maps, red roads
dead-ended and switchbacked
around a white void, the blank spot
where the bomb was dropped.
the finality of the detonation, the time of death noted,
the willingness of survivors to rebuild.