Vitreous

A poem to it's freedom

And suddenly there were tiny kaleidoscopes in my sight,
which increasingly grew bright, before leaving my vision unfocused.
Something like this had occurred before, so I knew the score:
Doctor, eye-unit, tropicamide: nuclear flashes into wide-open eyes.

Turns out, my vitreous had decided to say goodbye 
to its tethers, floating free, playing havoc with the way I see.
Not a blockage or pressure thing, to my relief, just one more
feature of growing old, one more thing that you’re never told.

In a brief spell of wonder I had pondered my eyesight
becoming a pinhole, my outlook being re-written into 
a magical representation of the things in front of me, 
colours vivified, edges blurred, the everyday made ethereal.

It settled down, I am back now, one good eye and its liberated fluid,
wondering how the world would have been with an anamorphic view of it?

Photos: Sydenham & South Bank, London. 2009 - Pinhole Art DIY Combo