A final sunrise remains
before the inevitable exhale returns
and I’m concerned
with my penmanship.
He asks if I’ve written anything
“You’re surrounded by inspiration”
but “without vision, the people perish”
A final dream before I turn to my side
and my eyes open
and I’m wide
awake with the knowledge of alive
Cerulean waters, my favorite color, greet
me with a morning refreshment
Without vision, I can see the
beauty in blindness
Eyesight confined
to the sun I know won’t heal.