Hole in your eye

 

You are still here

in the hospital.

You take me in,

project the image

onto your retina:

a silhouette

that cuts through

a blank

paper screen.

I fall through

your memory;

your daughter

whose name

you can’t say.

You are still here,

aren’t you?

 

You’ve been gone

two and a half years

but your face

comes through

the dark.

Again

I fall into

the hole

in your eye

to float

or drown

in black

ink seeping

from tentacles

of mind.

I know you are

not here

not gone.