Blinded,

as if by doubt, or

by something more tangible,

I still know this place as I would

a scar on my hand.

And I know it until the

apprehension sets in,

and I am only compelled forward by

a faith in continuity which

guides me…

not to shorten my breath when

a rock has become out of place.

I will choose to believe that

something avian and

rambunctious

came to visit my dwelling.

(perhaps a crow —

I like crows, though

I do know that, in pairs,

they carry a murderous air

about them).

I choose a reality in which my

world was disrupted

by a friend.

Some manner of apparition

once helped me understand —

despite my short comings —

the meaning of color…

And just how beautiful this place is because of it.