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An eye does not hatch

From the threshold of sleep/ from a rock inside a cave, 
Someone threw light at me, blinding my left eye.

An egg on naked earth, a naked egg on earth 
Absence of shell, shelter and shiver
You cracked and released to watch it slip into soil. 
(Gravity is cleanliness)

And so it does, except for the yolk.
A slick, bulging eye reflected by dirt
staring upward without the need to blink
(it once drew breath through cells of a shell). 

It does not observe
it merely looks,
until it turns matt,
until it turns flat.

Through the yellow retina you are 

Slide your fingers underneath
Alloy of land and the slick see through
Rub the other side
Your dry caress,
release to the silky rest,
the looking eye pulled downward and consumed
ahead of you.

At the root of the nose, wide open, not lidless,
it itches and hungers. Soiled index, scratch, ooze 
(relief is moisture)

Blink and you are not looking,
Look back and you’ll turn to stiff salt.

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