Twenty Twenty Vision

by Mark Ford

Unwinding in a cavernous bodega he suddenly

Burst out:--Barman, these tumblers empty themselves

And yet I persist; I am wedged in the giant eye

Of an invisible needle. Walking through doors

Or into them, listening to anecdotes or myself spinning

A yarn, I realize my doom is never to forget

My lost bearings. In medias res we begin

And end: I was born, and then my body unfurled

As if to illustrate a few tiny but effective words--

But--oh my oh my--avaunt. I peered

Forth, stupefied, from the bushes as the sun set

Behind distant hills. A pair of hungry owls

Saluted the arrival of webby darkness; the dew

Descended upon the creeping ferns. At first

My sticky blood refused to flow, gathering instead

In wax-like drops and pools; mixed with water and a dram

Of colourless alcohol it thinned and reluctantly

Ebbed away. I lay emptied as a fallen

Leaf until startled awake by a blinding flash

Of dry lightning, and the onset of this terrible thirst.