Cannot See

sightless father 

wordless sounder,

rebuilding the down in pastime

unmoving wraith in the eye of the tree

sitting forward,

 holding your bleak eyes open 

to lightlessness

movement ability,

itselves in a thousand

stillnesses 

higher senses rewarded every evening 

each morning, he does not say 'let there be light'

or wish for it's miracle,

although he is made of it

accidents of touch —

  another autonomous creature 

rebukes his hand

every afternoon,

it becomes active,

seeks a new seat

handles some

mysterious

tree bark

communication of the centuries piling up

no bit in the mouth,

grass on his lips,

wandering deep in it's eye

light filled,

silence immaculate

is touch a sort of sight?

he does not wonder

Revolver