I’m neither blind nor sighted.
I painstakingly see through
a poacher-woman takes patience
at growing silently inside me a lid.
Close-kept, it magnifies
the loose, primeval darkness that I hid
Wide open, it blinds me with the farawayness
she envisions sight in my third optical nerve amid.

Eyewinkful still hunt.
She, predatory,
tracking down the pureblood incarnation
I, in rearguard action
pressuring an unsaturated blink.

The fast-forwarding
runs its private eye over
to fold away the missing link.