Slow blinker

 

Human eyelids flit, zip, 

busily scrub off lies, hate,

 

splattered tears, pollen,

grit. People should be cats, 

 

blinks being blinds inched down

then glacially raised again --

 

frosting layered on cake,

coating carefully smoothed

 

over iris, pupil, white. 

Lids plough down, 

 

eyes smile goodbye, 

say extra time is needed

 

to paint our picture 

on the back side -- later

 

open slowly -- darkness gone,

hope renewed, three-layer dawn.

                              Timothy Pilgrim