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Blind



What has the sun not shone on?
And yet, seen nothing, never.
The ambiguity of sky—
close my eye, close my eye.
Flashes of things in different places,
that is time.  And then,
always, rain, running, blind.
Night is an eyelid that can't stay open.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.