The Blind Woman

The Blind Woman

The blind woman is dancing

out on the dimlit floor, shaking

her head

and tossing her golden hair

(i have felt her

heavy, well-kempt

scented hair), her gestures somehow formless,

unknowing.

She doesn’t even know

i watch her.

(I sip my beer, and sigh.)

What does she think of, who

does she see, lost

in her private world?

Later, walking away, muttering silently to my self, i wonder:

who watches my

private dances?

Entry filed under: poetry. Tags: poetry, voices.

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