It’s no blindness

One certainly does not expect
Sunburned eyes
In the midst of the worst winter
In the last 30 or 100 years.
Strolling in
ultra violent violet light
Glare on glare
Sun on snow
Even from unrelenting haze.
Blue so iridescent
So pure
When I come into shelter
from dazzlingbright Skies.
There it is.
Snow blindness.
Can’t see the forest for the trees

It’s a study to be blind
Hands steadying along walls
Telly without the

My prism heart colors my own apparitions
Now bleeding
My weary eyes
Spill out my own illusions

My sight wanes against the
Foolish belief that nothing

’s no blindness.
We are warned
But rarely listen.
The longing heart
Hears only love’s beat
Without discernment
Visors shut out deception
Blinded from wiser voices
Deafened by yearning choices
The heart doesn’t always see
The heart doesn’t always hear
What’s best for this me.

There’s treatment.
No cure.
There’s preventative measures
No assurances.
No antidote but time.

One could wear glacier goggles
Block out any possible chance
Of seeing ice crystals glisten
Off the trees
Perfect flakes shimmer
In painful Blue
But the tender heart wears no shades
Opening eyes sightless
Not gleaning
What is ahead.
Transience filters through
In the cracking ice beneath.

See me.
Seeing you.
A collaboration with three women who I have never met, but whose hands guided me to form this verse.
My thanks to them.
Rosemarie Mohr My-Heart-Speaks-Envisage
Debra Carson Squyres
Maureen Kwiat Meshenberg;;

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