Dwight Stevers: Poetry – Intimations on the Inner Eye

	Poetry
	Dwight Stevers

Intimations on the Inner Eye
A certain slow pressure moves in my head, like the shifting of the earth on a fault-line. The lens-grinder sweats quietly. He understands his purpose. He is continuity. I sense eruption, erosion, a coming together and falling away just short of clarity. The lens-grinder is a Taurus. He'll get the job done. I falter with impatience and compression. The lens-grinder remembers the diamond. I can see him if I don't look. I can hear him when the moon is full.

Intimations on the Inner Eye

A certain slow pressure
moves in my head,
like the shifting of the earth
on a fault-line.
The lens-grinder sweats quietly.
He understands his purpose.
He is continuity.
I sense eruption,
erosion,
a coming together
and falling away
just short of clarity.
The lens-grinder is a Taurus.
He'll get the job done.
I falter with impatience
and compression.
The lens-grinder remembers
the diamond.
I can see him
if I don't look.
I can hear him
when the moon is full.

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