Glass and wire are always close to me now,
like the amulets and fetishes worn
by a tribal shaman my
discount store glasses
are always within my grasp.
On my bed stand, in my desk, around my neck
I reach for the seer stones, the Urim and Thummin,
I find in Dollar Generals and Family Dollars
that miraculously bring clarity to the
hieroglyphics written on the backs of medicine bottles,
the cuneiform directions on soup cans,
the runes of recipes on cracker boxes,
and the faded imprints of credit card receipts.
It is the irony of aging,
the paradoxical evolution of life,
that finds my eyes fading
as the vision of my mind resolves,
clarifies and focuses. My younger self
could see the tracks of birds on the
the uppermost limbs of trees, but my
elder self is just starting to glimpse
what is really important.