by Dan Roberts
I see the sweet face of a child and her shyly-penned words of love.
I see stars that are bright in their patterns of gods in the gloaming above.
I see the one whom I married sleeping in the first dim light of dawn,
And I find my way from the darkened room to put my slippers on.
I see the sepia photographs printing sun shadows on the wall,
And every red leaf of the maple announces its fluttering fall.
I see every note on the page of a Beethoven bagatelle,
And a smile from a sickroom sentinal assures that a friend is well.
I see strokes of a brush once held by the likes of Degas or Monet
As they borrowed the colorful contours of a clear and crystalline day.
I see the well-rehearsed gestures of actors performing their scenes,
Then follow them unhesitatingly into the darkness between.
I see this world in its wholeness, with clarity set apart
From the inadequacies of troubled eyes. I see with memory and my heart.