… clarity and fineness of eyes

I heard an old man talking to himself, hey Joe, what d’ ya know, do ya know that yr life is held up by what yr looking at right here, right now? Did ya know that? By that green candle, a yellow mango with a pink blush on it, and the glimpse of green mango and the different yellow of the banana? The stained old circular table with its watermarked rings, and papers lying around, a book there, some clothes pegs, a tissue box, your breakfast, the honey on toast and yr cup of tea? There’s a loose orange, and the sun coming in over your shoulder, the morning ebbing away, at eleven o’clock. Did ya know that, Joe? And there’s your pendulum, for decisions, the book by Gregory Day, your tinnitus, the shadows moving, the trees outside gently moving too. The worn wooden floors sliding away in their own sort of perspective, the sun beside you on the sofa, like a cat. And the honey-soaked toast in your teeth, crunching wisely because of your denture, and the mood engendered by what went on earlier. Y’ know? Oh yes, and your bladder – you need a piss. Ok.

And twitching, while you talked with God? Moving shadows, again, sound of an aircraft motor. Aproaching. Space inside the house, Sam moving around upstairs

And looking at the optometrist girl’s eyes, through my new glasses, our gazes meeting in innocence, seeing absolutely clearly the majesty and awe, clarity and fineness of eyes, sharp focus, amazement at vision?

Hey, Joe?

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