WITH my glasses off
the thing I think I know
becomes indistinct and fresh.
A deer’s tail becomes a great white feather.
A distant tree, a man by the roadside hailing me.
When I run without my lenses
the world slips out of bounds
and newness emerges
like angels in our midst.
Since we are surrounded, cloud-like, by such witnesses,
can we see a little less clearly, Lord?
Can we lay aside our sharpened judgments
for some new appraisal of the scene?
And could the thing we think we know and want
emerge as something unimagined
but vivid clear to fuzzy sight?