DOUBLE BLIND

Trumpet squeal, rose stink, pepper flame, needle
prick: the eye blinks blind to all, unconcerned

but for color, depth and form. Color is
a cure for language, depth a swimming pool

of buoyant shadow and form a die-cast tool
to announce intention—yet the poor blind

get richer every day. Flourless chocolate
cake. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Lupin

in rain. Furry puppy belly and sniff
of private reserve. Better yet: no judging

the finish in the steeplechase of race,
inflated expectations of wonder-

bra or positioned package, dreck of chrome
and headline. In the invisible kingdom

of sound, music licks sight of its repressive
gaze and ears flower into stargazer

lilies, cumin blossoms, and fleshpots
of sweet and sour. Water, water everywhere.