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blind poet

by ralph david samuel

I want to know my face again.
My fingers touch my skin and hair,
feel where I am rough or smooth;
new flesh beneath my chin, my
longer nose and ears, transform
the face that I once saw reflected
from the bottom of a pool,
the face I knew as mine.

I want to be that youth again,
to turn and see the mountainside,
to watch my father tend his ewes,
watch them nurse their lambs,
see slim threads of smoke rise high
above the oven where my mother
baked dark bread. I want

to see orange light on olive trees,
watch my gray-haired wife
prepare red fruit, brown bread,
with slices of white cheese,
and as she serves the meal,
I want to know her smile.


(c) by Ralph David Samuel, 2002, all rights reserved.
ver. rev. 3-18-02, FDU


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