Quotilla #5

This poem riffs off the first few lines of Louise Gluck's 'The Wild Iris'

PUPIL OF A REDDENED EYE

At the dark core of the cry, an 'I'. In
the center of the 'I', an Iris. At the
end of its stem, a slash. In the mouth
of the slash, a bead of
my blood. In the blood of the
suffering, a saltiness. From the salt
there rose a sound. The sound
was a hinge, and from
a swinging of the hinge, a
door. Around its edges . . . light.