• Vol. 06
  • Chapter 11
Image by

These Three Eyes

I step out onto the balcony for
                            a breath of polluted Sydney air.
                            My three eyes – these windows
                            to what I am told is a soul – are
                            confronted with three distorted
                            mirror images that bounce blue

 

                            and red light back and forwards
                            across that Stygian gulf of night.
                            There was a time when red was
                            my favourite colour – it was the
                            red delicious apple of blue eyes.
                            The vehement vermillion burnt

 

                            out to a clear blue in the blink of
                            aging eyes. Now I see my people
                            all here together under cerulean
                            skies that conceal the depths of
                            timeless space. I hold my breath
                            for a time & breathe thru 3 eyes.

1