On opting for optometry

AN IDEA OF IMPROVISATION AS 

AN ARROW FEATHERED BY DESIRE

I once whispered 

to a slender-necked woman

with a long CV—

as we sipped wine 

from fine glasses—

how I sometimes felt

that glasses allowed

me to clearly see

the table of contents

before what I wanted,

even if not why.

And here I might 

just mean

the apparent ease

of desire,

although the truth

probably is, 

that near the end, 

I didn’t get exactly 

what I needed

from her with ease,

tho what I desired

did perhaps 

make one of us more needy. 

Maybe this is due

to what bodies deem

in the difference 

between entanglement 

& superposition. 

Almost as if

our lips came together

and moved apart

like a pair of shadows

or surgical scissors.

Say you misplace 

your glasses

and search for them

only to find

an older pair 

that nearly still work.

One can then at least

begin to make out 

a new letter

being formed overhead

by what could be geese—

who seem to always 

be pointed towards

why the E in need

is longer than the E

in desire—and

are probably

fleeing over something

deeper than any sea 

formed by weeping.

The Es of weeping—

one a well known constant,

the other a point

on a compass—

might not 

like the geese

aim in the same direction,

but old glasses

may still be filled

with a new light.

Isn’t double vision

still a type of vision—

even if split

by the difference

between her palate

and my palette—

I need to query everyone

and no one

in particular

or at least 

want to query?

She once whispered to me

that the difference

between query & queer

is merely a Greek E.

And here I should

probably admit

that the main reason

I ever told her 

“You’re being 

such a good girl

for me right now”

was because it seemed

to tender all the kinks

in her slender neck

until one of us wept.

I have heard from sufis 

—who may also sip wine

from glasses

thin-necked as geese—

that the one 

might be singular,

because the others 

are plural,

while both she

and quantum physics

claimed with ease

that one could be plural. 

The ease I mean—

of either desire or weeping—

because now it seems

that new glasses

even plural

don’t always clear up

what appears

to cut across the beach

silently as the “C”

in scissors

or in the shadows of a letter

being written overhead

by what I need

to believe are geese.