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