Scratch the retina.

See what lies

beneath the palisade

of rods and cones that lie

and lie.

Forests of delight

filled with wild

garlic and sorrel.

Fields of nettle and dandelion

ripe for the famished mouth.

And flowers –

so many flowers.

But all that

now towers above the ground

are trees that can’t be found

here (or in any quarter).

Once we held planets

in our embrace while stars fell

like droplets of glass

from chandeliers.

But now the sky

is woven with dark ribbons

and punctured by tears

that glint like shaved metal.

And our contorted mouths

filled with sprigs

of hemlock

sing of days derailed

and nights blazoned

by the sparks of absent fireflies.